Daytrip to Tassajara
By the doorway on my way in,
half forgotten, a breath of incense
and the sudden deep sense of home
after a long time abroad.
But nothing looks smaller,
and no one has grown old.
At the Retreat
Stone fountain talking to itself
in the bamboo by the kitchen path,
a blue-eyed cat, formed of emptiness,
tends to itself in silence.
And I in the morning wind
sip green tea. With honey
About Irene McDonald