In my small room, more books than clothes; noticing this
put a smile to my face, chilled from the clear night air,
filled with moon, stars.
I walked home on the smooth stone path, chasing the sounds
of bells, of drums, of prayers from distant windows; my eyes
given only the distant glow of candles in the darkened streets.
The guard at the monestary gate was not at his post; I walked past
his empty old chair, my evening greeting met only by the empty earth,
the simple acts, the rituals, a goodnight to a stranger encountered so many
times.
