I Don’t Know Why I’m Telling You All This

They climb the white hill, four Buddhist monks
bare in mind.
The distinct crunch of snow
beneath thick Winter boots
an understated poem of patient ascent over Disquiet Earth.
Up ahead is the temple
simple in its clearing ringed with firs:
it declared itself at the outset,
right from the very first step
and was present,
both ex- and implicit,
at every point in the vista —
and the intervista
the whole way.
But you know this already, don’t you?
being one of the passionate pilgrims yourself!

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