The Old Poets of China
Wherever I am, the world comes after me.
It offers me its busyness. It does not believe
that I do not want it. Now I understand
why the old poets of China went so far and high
into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist.
Introduced to be by a former student (and current poet) who used to visit my classroom during breaks to share beautiful words. From Mary Oliver’s collection Why I Wake Early. It speaks to the contemplative at my core.