The deep, dark paths of foreign steps unwind
before the eyes and hand of a dreamer
who is not welcome here, despite his mind
or heart, his art, mores or demeanor:
But yet the path unfolds through the mountains,
heading down from the monastic center,
and the bushes and shrubs shoot like fountains
before his noble steps dare to enter:
It's lush here and green despite the arid
conditions, since the mind takes occasion
to shower the earth and air with humid
streams of vision, of dreams, of creation:
Voilà the fruits of this fruitless labor,
this man descends so we all can savor.
urbansonnets 