Sunday, September 1, 2013
In the yard next door,
a pocket of fog like a small heard of bison
swallows azaleas, koi pond, the red-and-gold koi.
To be undivided must mean not knowing you are.
The fog grazes here, then there,
all morning browsing the shallows,
leaving no footprint between my fate and the mountain's.
~ Jane Hirshfield