Where, or Knowing, or Commemorating One Year--I Do Not Know

I walk through hills of dead and dormant grass--
Mud and sand--knowing these are
Not your hills
Nor these clouds your sky--
This breeze your
Wind.


I am not where you are.


So I'll sit on a mossy bench made of wood 

At the base of a tree
And watch the blue mountains
Stand firm in the wind.
While I commune with God about the
Things I do not know.


But you are where you are and
This you know--what I do not.


This is not your place-- that I know--if it is
Mine... what I do not.
These hills, this sun, the seasons, night:
To whom do they belong?
Whose heart within the valley lies? If it is not yours
Nor mine?


The rivers, trees, distance of land and seas-- separating
You from me: my
Own choosing.
Only I do not know if the choosing either is me.


I do not know, but you know you are where you are.