RUINS OF A SAGE
they were perhaps doing no more than discussing goats
slowly sipping tea as dusk deepened
moonlight drifting over an unbroken swathe of pine needles
the big resin-perfumed trees firmly underpin
the quadrangle of mountain shadow splashing the day’s birdsong away
the limestone bench locking the travellers in
in watchful attention the voice picked them clean
a jade-like distance condensed in a porcelain cup
set gently down still so moist and translucent
