The jade mountains shrouded in mist
And stone bridges hung over the water
Reminds me of old films from ages past.
A silent reel catching the light of
Smoke screens, cast hazel from my window.
Tired eyes reflecting a sheltered wisp
Of moonglow, dewdrops and fireflies
Flickering about on a cusp of wind.
I see the moon maiden circling by
The wind dancers, passing blue jays
In the afternoon and chiding the crows
Upon morning. The birds flock and croon
Amongst the sunlit robes from a sage of time.
I may be yet a silent passerby in the
Forthcoming season, an alchemist abiding
The rules of nature. A quick-witted gardener
Studying the elements, a humble traveler
Catching rays of shattered light. Perhaps I am
Still a poet at heart, burrowing my soul in the soil.
The ground has been uprooted and berry-picking
In these woods has become rather cumbersome.
Many days now have been clouded, a deep fog
Settling in like stardust and eclipsing my office.
I would kindly ask the seasonal sprites to
Wave their brush and paint the skies hazel,
A resemblance of my evening tea. Alas, all the
Spirits claim that this sun must reflect the sky come
Daybreak. The paint will be left to fade at nightfall,
So that our moon may guide the stars on their travels.
I accept this answer as truth and ponder where
The last sage of time has fled. This sage had
browsed my wares, knocked on my door, and asked
for an elixir. I offered my collection of tea and
sand dollars from the shore, so the birds can
Lend me their keen eyes in searching for time.
Alas, I keep losing time once over again, so
The wind dancers lay down a lifeline for my
Trembling hands to grasp. I hold the string tight,
Like this twine is the breath from my lungs and
The rabbit-pulse of my chest. Then, I saw those robes
Of fractured light, rustling beneath the underbrush.
The time it took finding this sage, to share my
Alchemy with this weathered soul, was a lifespan.
The time taken to craft and refine this elixir of
Stardust was a long life spent in the moon's shadow,
From the birth of this eclipse to the collapse of the
Neighboring frost above the bones of this earth.
I hearkened to the birds at dusk, spoke like a
Messenger, with dirt clung to my knees and some
Whittling maple leaves lettering my cloak. The sage
Of time paid with tea leaves, and faded into that lone
Sea of stars above the jade mountains, steep with mist.