Trek Back

In the summer the bamboo groves remain cool
They await the lonely wanderers
Who crawl or limp in
Having long lost their way elsewhere
They await the the odd coincidence
When two solitaires meet in a single deck
Strolling along the same tired old track
Attempting to find without having to search

The scholars and artists sit by
Penning disciplined hypotheses and
Fantastical descriptions of beauty they are not
And will not and cannot see
Because they picture the lights of the day only
Smeared onto their canvas and paper
In only the pre-manufactured commercial pigments
Everybody can find anywhere else.
They will never know what we - yes, we -
Have seen and will see
In our memories, in our dreams
To remember

In the summer there are only hearts
To forgive and forget.