The One Who Is At Home

 Each day I long so much to see 

The true teacher. And each time

 At dusk when I open the cabin

 Door and empty the teapot,

 I think I know where he is:

 West of us, in the forest. 

 Or perhaps I am the one

 Who is out in the night,

 The forest sand wet under

 My feet, moonlight shining

 On the sides of the birch trees,

 The sea far off gleaming.

 And he is the one who is

 At home.  He sits in my chair

 Calmly; he reads and prays

 All night. He loves to feel

 His own body around him;

 He does not leave his house.

 --Francisco Albanez 

translated by Robert Bly