Trails

All those trails through all
those mountain passes
must lead somewhere.
I've been there,
looking for you.

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

I never stop walking.

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
straight hair
and I with my curling yellow-grey beard.

I've climbed up and sometimes down
looking for you.

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