April

The monks have crossed the bridge, down below, in the spring valley.
They troop and file above the sparkling blue.
Far away, in the distance, the sound of cattle lowing.
My soul is flowing through the valley too.

The years have rolled away in countless resurrections.
They bump and tumble down the valley’s slopes.
My mind is a cave which echoes with their distance.
The risen image fills my language with its hope.

Each step towards the past brings us closer to the future.
Some old memory suffused me with its love.
This world is real, I discovered its existence.
The earth returns the arc of words its dove.