My Real Wind

I could disappear into these desert peaks
On one of those rare days when the mist
Makes it all the way in from the Pacific,

But the secret wish of every eremite
Who wishes to leave all career in the dust,
Even those who wish to lose themselves,

To make their own shadows transparent,
The way every shadow fades away between
The last star and sunrise, sunset and moon,

Is not to lose their views. Xiaotai dreamed,
In his high study, of clearing a path to a hut
Where he could retreat to contemplate

Sun on the fog, but he was dragged down
And died in prison before he got close
To seeing forty, much less decades in mist.

You can disappear any time you like.
You can defy the laws that let you breathe.
But can you live as a watcher in the trees?