"Poking up from the ground barely above my knees,
already there's holiness in their coiled roots....

A thousand years from now who will stroll
   among these trees,
fashioning poems on their ancient dragon shapes?"
    – "Little Pines" by Chi'i-Chi






A thousand year mystery unfolds as moss along
the tendens of the leaning creekside willows.
The boarded footpath leads this way and that
modeled from the caravans of old deer paths.
We look up and see one half of yin and yang,
the sky unknowable, horizons of blue ending at nothing.
Below, the substance of what is known holds
every foot step up, miracles, unmovable.