by Sam Rasnake
If my daughter should somehow lose the path
or should wander too near the serious rocks
or should go alone, as she must, out to sea,
I will find her. This is my part.
I will wait for the world to hush its noise,
then take this atlas of my own heart,
opening it to the proper page, and will
find all those certain places to reach her in time.
If I don't wait for the world to stop,
and this is not the hard part,
how will I ever hear her weeping?
The going, that is her part.
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Reading this poem to my daughter is a favorite moment of mine. Thinking about it still frightens. Maybe Dōgen's no think is needed.
Originally published in Poetry Motel.