Positive
a remembered mountain
lies around this bend in the trail;
more dense forest.
Leaving the theater,
searching for my car,
turning in the wrong
direction.
Driving around my Island
home of thirty years,
shortest routes elude me.
I’ve always been this way.
Each time illusions melt,
chaos,
providing a fresh chance
to see.
(No. 98 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)