Carrying a day
is like carrying a mountain,
those endless small words
men use to guard
Put your day down.
Come to the bank in the snow
wearing grace and pain,
the silence at the end of sentences.
Breathe the snow
and the sad odor of human dust.
All the roads are inside you,
even the desire
not to desire
brooding over your own horizon.
The innocents await you.
There is no one to wish farewell
except yourself in the orphaned dark.
– Terrance Keenan, “Lullaby of Crossing the River,” St. Nadie in Winter: Zen Encounters with Loneliness. (Journey Editions, November 10, 2015)