I look into the sky,
changeable and immutable, like the Spirit himself.
Eternal castles shine high in the air
over my soul’s frozen pond
where clouds were shivering in summer,
and on Christmas townspeople skated so merrily.
But now its thawing ice is unsafe, deserted.
A sole bird screams on the shore announcing
the night when spring comes.
The boy who became a man
and lost all his secrets
but found true love.
The wanderer who went around the whole world over centuries
and found nothing better than home.
The shaman who moved to the city
and cooks breakfasts in his magic cauldron,
but did not abandon his craft —
to give shape to words.
The warrior who stood the fight and came out with a victory
and a wound he never forgets.
The lesser your strength, the higher your spirit, —
the riddle worth solving.
I wait, and the tears dry,
and the ice melts in the pond,
and stars illuminate
the night when spring comes.
Photo by Jeff Golenski / Unsplash
