Forest Pool

 

Today you shall take a walk

into the deep forest. Proceed

slowly into the thicket of

 

rustling leaves,  riangriang

of cicada, birdsong. They will not

harm you. Then pass by

 

the bamboo grove. Notice

how the apple-green glow

fades into teal shadows, how the light

 

through the trunks slants, sudden

and sharp, the same light

that tumbles like rain

 

from the upside-down abyss

of the gap between

the clumped crowns of trees.

 

Remember this light. It shall save you

should you fall, silent-screaming,

into a disused quarry, stagnant water

 

haunted by ghosts, regretful and vengeful

of its past. Do not linger here. Pull yourself out

clinging to the shining thread.

 

Sometimes at journey’s end you will discover

the still pool nestled in rocks

that shimmer rose and lavender

 

in the sun, overlooking the peopled forest

and on the other side, tumbling

into sea and sky. This is your gift.

 

Step in. Let the water run

like jewels through your hair,

cool your feet. Stay as long

 

as you may. Say thank you.

Walk away. Do not look back.

You shall come here again.

 

 

 

 

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