waiting
for the leaves to blow
and the merry bird
to sing his tune
visiting the blue
mirrored water
as it shows another world
and I am one
who visits from the outside
in the whiteness
of the rising light
where all the shapes
dissolve into
the morning mist
along a path
where feet will never tire
until there is some light
and lightness to the world
between the worlds
I waver in the wind
without a place to go