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From Analects on a Chinese Screen: The Hermitage of Awareness: 6

Glenn Mott

With what cold original voice comes an aboriginal silence in the giant bamboo.
                                                                                                    I listen
in a wilderness, for a human memory of one billion

looking anxiously for something that, while it is expected, and seems to be present, has gone.
               The way out was the way in.

I turn east to feel the rain,
                              & hear the water song in the dripping grove.
I walk on New Year's Day by a road of China local.

The path leads to a scenic view behind the temple.

Coals raked over space.

                              Revenant stranger,
                                                            in an enormous night.