Soft Things

I look across the water
and in a drifting fog
Seemed to see all the
Way to the East
Where a pine in classic style
Leans and dips its
Hat to the waters
Every needle on every branch
Taking me
Across time and place
So that I rested watching
On a bed of moss
Like Kokadera
Longing to feel it on
All my length
That memory of soft things.