The ancient sage, beset with too many thoughts
for one human lifetime,
chooses carefully the place to sit
beside the lake,
under the even more ancient twisted pine
with the view of distant cliffs
where the stork’s cry echoes;
gathers his thoughts.
Out of mercy,
the breeze gently ruffles the surface
of the lake;
the sage, reminded by the ripples
of the stillness of the lake,
smiles from a mind that’s now the lake
reflecting the blueness of the sky;
reflects, beyond the blue,
the space in which immortals live.