The ox does not meet the fox
until late night when everyone
is asleep in the forest. Maybe
a prefix does not meet a suffix
until everyone grows silent.
The trees and wind merge
into psithurism. You saw
your reflection in the lake
at evening. In one world,
this image remains embedded
into the core expanse. Maybe
this is what it is like
to enter another year,
recognizing the tracing
of a face with which
you are born.
