Trails

All of those arduous trails
through uncountable mountain passes
must lead to you somewhere.
I've been there,
looking for you.
You are not there.
I try to follow.

The edelweiss, silvery-white,
define some trails,
blooming ahead of us.
It could be a good place
for you to stop and rest.
Do you ever stop to sleep?

I never stop walking.
My sleeps are to short.

I knew who you were once;
now I am not so sure.

I despair
that we may have passed
in a meadow in Spring.
You, with your dark
greying straight hair
and I with my curling brown-grey beard.

I've climbed up and sometimes down
looking for you.
You never come into complete view.

Some trails disappear among fallen rocks.
The empty arms of winter trees
allow some passage.
I will explore these trails
before the next snow . . .