Sojourner

In all our human experience
We can only speak and hope to hear.
The most precious, serenely lasting
Cannot begin to be shared.

When I was a sojourner of the end of the world,
Where sparse, pink bushes in their stationary beauty
Blur on the horizon in brushstrokes of the last, lonely painter;
There, a dying tree muttered something -
That by this point, everyone's happiness had come.

A flower waits on my desk
To remind me why I'm here
Still clinging to that awakening scent
As if adorning my life instead of my skin.

And in the rain, on the secret hill
They taught me how to live alone;
And in the dark, they taught me to slow down,
They taught me how to live.