small stone (248)

Night, straining toward cool. The cats on the porch startle at my approach then slide into the dark. A quiet house. The room’s single lamp.

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cold mountain (28)

 

make use of her refuge

In the dark, absence is as fearful as presence. What lurks in the corners may just as well be gone when we check, fingers trembling and out-stretched; without absolutes, where will we hide now?

 
Chinese and English pp. 54-55 here.

Those who read Chinese will note that what Red Pine has translated as “refuge” is literally “safe hidden place,” which is how I read it when responding.