Crossing this lake at sundown, we will see them
again perched on willows and elms along the banks
where no one has yet thought of putting up signposts:
there is no need for them here, nobody will return.
The sweet larks of love and yearning warble quietly,
bewildered and detached owls are soundlessly glum;
but are there birds marked Selflessness? Oblivion?
This passing allegory is not lost on us who must leave.
This journey through narrow trails that branch out
elsewhere before we reach familiar resting places
is all that we really have while we struggle here—
Is there a warm hut ahead? Can we stay longer there?
At that final crossing, before we get to the other side,
will this lake show a reflection of where we’re going?
—Albert B. Casuga