A valley and above it forests in autumn colors.
A voyager arrives, a map leads him there.
Or perhaps memory. Once long ago in the sun,When snow first fell, riding this wayHe felt joy, strong, without reason,Joy of the eyes. Everything was the rhythmOf shifting trees, of a bird in flight,Of a train on the viaduct, a feast in motion.
He returns years later, has no demands.He wants only one, most precious thing:To see, purely and simply, without name,Without expectations, fears, or hopes,At the edge where there is no I or not-I.
Robert Hass translation