Monday, August 22, 2016

Son Mountain 15: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

Divining a far-flung place to dwell,
Peace of Heaven—there’s nothing more to say.
Gibbons cry from the cold mists of the valley,
glowing peaks merge into a grass gate,
leaves thatch the roof of a home in the pines,
a pond is channeled from a spring.
Content at last to drop the world,
picking ferns as the years fall away.

(from the translations of RP79, RH-78, BW-43)

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