The harsh cry of a partridge
echoes along the valley
through the misty rain
two months after you left
you would recognize it
though you no longer noticed the sound
except in your dreams

once again I do not know
where you may be
where to think of you
how to send you anything
whether you need it or not

you may be far away by now
yet I keep hearing your footsteps
all day in the house
in another room
this is like one of those letters
written on a mountain
in China more than
a thousand years ago

by someone staring
at the miles of white clouds
after a friend’s departure
there were so many of those
unsigned and never sent 
as far as we know