he is walking into the mountain

wanders in the evergreen 

there is wind and there is sunlight leaking through trees (木漏れ日)

he smells the sea air

a faint slow rumble from the waves of ocean, somewhere out there 

he stumbles around on the rocks

the soles of his shoes are slick, no traction

he holds tightly to the notebook

the one he titled

(心の跡) “traces of the heart” 

and the fountain pen, he checks

it is still in the breast pocket of his vest

which covers his white button up shirt, made in the western style and tailored in japan,

and he walks over rock and through passages shaped by small trees

daylight

is behind him as he climbs up and up and

there in le ciel is a curve of light

it is the ray of the sun hitting his glasses,

the frames blurry from oils rubbed off from his skin

the curve of light, it’s like the 

curve of life, he wrote this down 

“the sky above me

the power to live within me”

it is not may or june,

it is the time he wanted to fly into night like 

stars and dark

matter is the shape and the unshape of a life,

his life, and the life next, to yet arrive

he clutches his diary, the

traces of his heart that make

tendrils of longing unravel through spacetime

beyond, beyond, says the heart sutra

go beyond

no eye

no ear

no thought

no body

no self

he hopes he can be

no more than this little rock here

the one that appears coral amidst a sea of earthy browns and greys

what happens when the rock tumbles down behind him, falls down and down

leaves just a trace of itself 

imprinting into earth like he will be

just dust

just light

just star

just dream

just self

and no self but

our /self joined

in time,

with or without feeling or sense faculty or consciousness

joined and we are

empty and full

, of just love