Red Moon

Wandering we came on a swift river.

Clear water, granite pebble bottom.

Riffles and rapids and long still pools,

Willows hanging over the banks,

Big fish tucked in the shadows,

And floating down like little boats,

Peach blossoms. Lots of them.

We climbed upstream to find the trees

Dropping these petals of floating pink.

The river narrowed, rose into a defile.

We had to clamber, one side then the other,

Feet wet at one crossing, hands on rock looking down.

Then the gorge opened and we were in a high valley.

Fields of grain, neat houses, and yes: peach trees.

They lined the banks, dropping their blossoms

On the slow meander of a little river.

People came out to greet us:

Where are you from? What’s the news?

They fed us and showed us a bower to sleep in.

These people were peaceful, calm, kind.

The valley was fertile and full of animals.

We stayed until we saw what it was: a good place.

To live here would be fulfillment.

So we said to each other, let’s get our families

And bring them back. Let’s move here.

We left that place and picked a way

Down the narrow gorge, back into the world.

Traveled home and made our accounting,

Convinced who we could to go back with us.

Off we went with packs on our backs,

Back to that place where the peach blossoms fell.

We could not find it. Somehow the hills were

Not the same. No such river where we thought.

Back and forth we made a search, back and forth

But nothing. Different streams, different lands.

That place in space was a moment in time:

You can never find your way back.

Search all your life you will only despair.

Dustless garden, how to tell? Where to find?