Visiting Tea Master Li On An Autumn Evening
 by Ken Cohen

Climbing the narrow trail
That winds along the edge of the mountain,
Blowing fog hides and reveals
The storied landscape.

Small cascades make trails
Along the granite face;
Majestic pines fill my
Senses with peace.

From somewhere, the cry
Of a hawk pierces the void.

I wander all day,
Stopping occasionally,
Leaning on my aspen branch
Walking stick to enjoy the scene,
Until as shadows lengthen
I see your hut, hiding among
The wood and grasses.

Your door is open
And already the coals
Are glowing in the brazier.
How touching, an old friend's kindness.
After exchanging pleasantries,
You pour water into the peach-shaped pot
Of purple sand, surely Shou Lao,
The God of Immortality, is smiling.

The fragrance of
Monkey-picked Tie Guanyin,
Is autumnal and refreshing.
(I wonder at the risk you take
As you, the monkey, clamber up
The steep slopes to gather the wild leaves.)

One taste and all knowledge is forgotten;
Flavor returns, sweet burgundy
Coats the sides of my tongue,
Fills the palate and spreads
Until my whole being is
Taste and scent. More steepings,
Autumn deepens. Each cup
Brings me closer to the cliffs,
Until I am the earth, the leaves,
The mist, the mountain itself.
Did I walk the mountains,
Or were the mountains walking?

The next morning, awakening to a clear dawn,
You accompany me to the edge
Of your mountain paradise.
Now I can see how your home is a dragon's
Lair resting among the twisting
Folds of gray peaks under a jade sky.
No need to mention the frost at our temples—
Who knows how many years will pass,
Or if we will ever meet again?
But hasn't this always been
The Way of Tea-to experience
Each moment as complete in itself.

We pour the same tea