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I built a cairn for you at the roadside
out of pitted rocks and wood
and fallen apples sweet with rot.
But such things are scattered by the wind and rain:
impermanent,
transitory,
ephemeral.
This too shall pass.
So I built a cairn for you at the roadside,
out of pines and ferns
and seeds buried deep.
But trees fall down,
and plants wither,
and all that is born must die.
So I built a cairn for you at the roadside,
out of mist and autumn breeze,
and the cool smell of fallen maple leaves
stayed in my nostrils
until dusk brought rain
to bead my hair.
I still taste your memory
with every indrawn breath.
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