Ten million ardent seekers follow one path home.
I wander off-trail.
Getting lost …is my journey.
I seldom arrive anywhere else
but where I am.
Tell me when you get there, friend,
is anything more lovely than a pear blossom
falling on a silent stream
that weaves among mossy boulders,
liquid mirror in the mist, mirroring
a liquid soul, and whispering,
‘You are the path’?