At first, we know the very road
that winds toward the quiet mountain;
the ribbon of footprints, the broad
blue sky that no thought can contain.
And then, we know the silent clothing
stirring underneath the fountains;
the heaven that abstractly glows
beyond the limits land maintains.
At last, we know the cloud floating
above what we have known for certain;
the unsure pathway, the bulky coat
that falls over her like a curtain.
Finally, we are pilgrims who know
that the way must remain uncertain.
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