|Rivulet Eroding Old Road|
The storms have knocked down many trees.
A spate of rain water digs a deeper chasm
In the old road. Fresh grass flourishes
In the ancient trails, the first fiddleneck
Unfurling near house pits. A newt plods
By a mortar brimming with rain water
And plops into the swollen creek,
The pounding stone under a fallen oak.
|Newt next to Mortar in Pounding Stone|
Suddenly I see a whole tribe of newts
In the shallows, some of them looking up
At me. They seem to shout: We are back—
The world is fresh again. You are free
Of history. Whatever ill you have done
Out of fear or in the name of love
Is utterly forgotten. Go, cleanse
Yourself every moment in the world.