As the moon spills its radiance onto the water,
There in the thick of weary trees spins a dark way,
Which, with wary legs traverses the wanderer.
In the autumn silence, the path is near empty,
Save for strange eyes, ephemeral gems of dim light;
Leaves of fire inflame the bed of the forest.
Trudging along the veiny roots of the ancient forest,
Veins reminding him of his mother’s hands, water
From a stream feeds into a lake: some distant light
Dappling on its surface flickers, fades away. This gate-way
To all mysteries, a pristine mirror reflecting his empty
Soul, beguiles with promises of finality the wanderer
Aching to find repose. Suddenly, the wanderer
Jolts out of his rêverie. T’was not the forest
That made that rude cry, being seemingly empty;
Facing the lake once more the uneasy water
Parts, a will-o'-the-wisp emerging. Making its way
Towards the wanderer, he admires the light
Emanating from it like a dying lantern. How light
It is, prancing ‘pon the lake! It tells the wanderer:
“Why do you bear such glum countenance? What long way
Must you have taken to come here, to this forest
Cast to the furthest corner of Earth? This water
Here cannot simply be embraced: You must empty
Your mind…” The fatigued wanderer begins empty-
ing all presumption, all raucous rumination. Light
Envelops him upon immersion, the water
Trembles, the ends of time are to the wanderer
Revealed. Flashes of mem’ry pass by: a forest
Ablaze, a mother’s unyielding grasp leading the way,
The blood-dimmed tide’s brutal descent. O forlorn, way-
Ward trav’ller, you bear the sorrow of a thousand empty
Souls, hungry for solace! Yet, amidst the forest
He stands starving, weary, lonely still. The distant light
Of the Will-o'-the-wisp speaks: “You, the wanderer,
Have traversed far and wide, found truth, but the water
Cannot offer you finality…The sole way to the serene light
Must be pursued within.” Empty yet filled with vigour, the wanderer
Leaves the forest, as the nascent sun spills its brilliance onto the water.
