27. The Strategist
The purple flowers on the mountain trail,
like paper flattened on the soggy dirt,
take with them my secrets, even hail
could not make them tell, I am assured.
There is no tale of someone’s misadventure
walking up to seek forbidden summits,
against which the village people lecture,
in fear of seeing that she slips and plummets.
They have no recollection – not of me,
who was collecting memories in full.
The teeming inn, the trees, as jauntily,
I sauntered off to chase a mysterious pull.
All this so that I’ll always know
how to leave and let things go.
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