High, high from the summit of the peak,
Whatever way I look, no limit in sight!
No one knows I am sitting here alone.
A solitary moon shines in the cold spring.
Here in the spring – this is not the moon.
The moon is where it always is – in the sky above.
And though I sing this one little song,
In the song there is no Zen.
I am starting to gather my thoughts and material for the upcoming retreats at Tassajara. There is always room for a mountain poem or two.