To know the inhabiting reasons
of trees and streams, old men
who shed their lives
on the world like leaves,
I watch them go.
And I go. I build
the place of my leaving.
The days arc into vision
like fish leaping, their shining
caught in the stream.
I watch them go
in homage and sorrow.
I build the place of my dream.
I build the place of my leaving
that the dark may come clean.