I need no guru
to teach me the wind,
the language of birdsong and falling leaves.
I need no coach to read the clouds,
the undulating skeins of geese and cranes
and follow with longing eyes their airy path.
The river runs,
tides ebb and flow,
moon, sun rise and set,
about their young in feathered curves,
the soft embrace of fur,
the tenderest arc of an arm.
what else is there to know?