There were times, at bedtime, when my daddy
Told the one lonely tale which he knew best,
The sino-story Journey to the West,
With its Magi heroes, Monk and Monkey.
Here I stand, having chased my father’s voice,
Rock under my feet, waves against the rock,
And waves all through the line of nine o’clock:
At journey’s end, there is only one choice.
I revolve around and roll the steps back
Through the path and through moments in my mind:
Regret, not compass, dictates direction.
All that I once did appears on the track,
Alongside all that I once wished to find.
Eastward I walk, in prayerful oblation.
The entire collection of poems from this project was published by Eyewear in 2016. Only a sample of the 78 poems remain accessible on this website.