I remember once, on a kayak
paddling down a river:
my movements were the only ripples.

Far from the white waters
even the trees are silent,
and the fish stay deep.

A single bird calls
from a distance,
and the echo is loud;

but the voice
of one cricket
can hardly be heard.

I see a fisherman’s line,
unattended,
bobbing in the flow.

I often hear people say,
“The lonely heart is always sad.”

Then why do I smile?