Journey
Wherever I am, I'll be here.
Whatever happens, it has happened already.
It went on for so long, longer than I imagined
Before I was standing here, that is: wherever.
Wandering, thoughts, people, horses...
The blinding sun of the south.
Only this could inspire
the falsehood of harmony.
Too frail and clear
to support the weight of those clouds,
to light the foliage in the gloom,
to soothe the patient convulsions of the trees.
Wandering, thoughts, people, horses...
I returned by a northbound trail
as astray in its thoughts as I myself,
slender like a gray hair in the night,
winding like a grass snake's spine by day...
I was standing at home,
(that is: wherever),
though the trail ran further.
I stopped the horses,
I stopped the people,
But my thoughts I could not.