Finding a teacher.
In the woods I came on an old friend fishing
and I asked him a question, and he said wait.
Fish were rising in the deep stream,
but his line was not stirring, but I waited.
It was a question about the sun, about my two eyes, my ears,
my mouth, my heart, the Earth with its four seasons, my feet
where I was standing, where I was going.
It slipped through my hands as though it were water
into the river.
It flowed under the trees, it sank under holes far away
and was gone without me.
Then where I stood night fell.
I no longer knew what to ask.
I could tell that his line had no hook.
I understood that I was to stay and eat with him.