New Road

 

At first I longed for a familiar

bend, a well-known shape of space or

thing, some end.  The new way

wandered so, spending warm hours

along the creek.  This road, I said,

has all the time there is, while I,

I may have hours only.  A road

without a marker—that’s lonely.

 

Time was all the answer that I

heard, for all about me, ripe leaves

from a tree, hours fell.  I walked in

deep time, slowly became one

with it, searched for no landmark,

then, found the whole richness of no

when.  Learned that to know is a

closed place: only to wonder opens into space.