In autumn the yellow grass,
Is filled with stones,
Scattered through running streams.
Bird’s cradle in deep nests.
The pine trees rustle, stand
Belligerently against the cold rain,
Falling on wet orange leaves. There
Wild bark festers, congealing with sap.
Flowers flourish and thrive,
Filled with fulfilment, knotting,
Interlocked with the muddy ground,
Turning their feet into roots.
Bluebell, Primrose, and Asters,
Sweet fragrance drift in the blowing
Wind, among the damp cattails,
Rocked by the raucous stream.
Along the damp earthy path, Lie
Hidden burrows and shrapnel
Of shattered skulls and bones.
Under the tall branches of the white birch.
Listening to its sound, its music is the
Vestiges of rain, snapping twigs, wind
In the green ferns, and fallen pebbles.
After a while, I remembered to breathe.
I had forgotten that all this would vanish,
For every moment leads towards the black
Smoke Of loss. Knowing my body will struggle
Against it. Yearning for home, to be in the world.
I have learned, that none of us will
Ever know, that to immeasurable trees,
To the blue rivers, to the landscapes,
To this rain and the autumn air.
Numberless times you have saved me,
Revealed salivation, shown me happiness,
And despair, how to hold and how to
Let go, when I needed it the most.
Death after death, joy after joy,
Sorrow After sorrow, forever and forever,
Ceaselessly in unending eternity,
In new life after new life, in universal being.