Somewhere
in the deep
accumulated memory
of the earth
there is a fine layer
of soil
cultivated by you
with ash and fertiliser
bringing life again
to the budding trees
you planted
for restful shade and fruit
an unbroken life
descending and re-ascending
anew
rising with the spring grasses
and calling birds
rising in the eyes
of newer years

A Travelling Document (Part I)

The mountains are
still visible

against the ink-washed
night sky

simultaneous boundaries
of the known/unknown
worlds of experience
dream and awakening

(too late now for contemplations
of the setting sun
suspended upon the horizon
like a drum)

a hidden sutra
waiting to be called to life
with the morning bell
and the weaving voices of those
who each day
respond to its summons

Yesterday
a fine rain
of volcanic ash
descended
covering the steps
we climb each morning

Before I knew you
the circumference of these
mountains did not seem
so wide
to encompass
such disparate worlds
as seemed to be ours