Winter Valley

Fallen leaves on the stream

Float motionless — rest —

So secretly the pale

Water winds around

Toward hidden pools,

Or sinking in the earth

Is drowned.

Curved crimson stems,

Thorny fingers of vine,

Reach toward the wind.

Sunlight, thin and cold,

Touches them — they shine.

Nothing passes for thorns to hold —

Red thorns,

Catching at shadows of the wind.

Silence in the valley,

Silence without wings —

Like the caught breath

Of an unspoken word

When no words come.

Withered reeds, and thin brown water

Above the reeds

Are dumb.

For what are you waiting, winter valley,

Withered valley, brown with reeds?

You are hushed with waiting.

You are old with secrets,

You are tranquil with forgetting.

You are harsh with thorns

Of fruits long vanished.