In Sung China
two monks
friends for sixty years
watched the geese pass.
Where are they going?
That moment's silence continues.
No one will study their friendship
in the koan-books of insight.
No one will remember their names.
I think of them sometimes,
standing, perplexed by sadness,
goose-down sewn into their quilted autumn robes.
Almost swallowed by the vastness of the mountains,
but not yet.
As the barely audible
geese are not yet swallowed;
as even we, my love. will not entirely be lost.
--Jane Hirshfield, The Lives of the Heart
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