Listening Deeply

Sometimes-in another-you can hear the sound of a hermit,

Sighing as he climbs a mountain trail to reach a waterfall

Or a buddhist nun reciting prayers

While moonlight falls through the window

Onto an old clay floor,

And once in a while a child rolling a hoop through the alley way of Tokyo, laughing,

Or the farmer pausing in a rice field to watch geese fly,

The thoughts on his lips he doesn’t think to say.