30 Jun 2017 – Empty Pockets

Once a proud pilgrim
stumbling down stony paths –
but now, no longer.

Tolls gladly given –
counted out in sunburnt skin –
discarded leather.

Years of vague yearnings,
empty pockets all to show
for hopes so eager.

Everyone’s laughing,
strolling towards departure gates
with loads of luggage.

I watch them passing.
Claim-check faded  – what the hell?
I write another.

This piece of paper?
Han Shan showed me how to fling
songs at a river.