The law of impermanence states that everything changes
the curve of the river the child the flower the state of grace.
Approaching the bluff today I, crestfallen, saw that the
fantastical dancing man, the luckily shaped branch of a fallen tree,
was gone, not just broken off but completely missing, no trace of him.
Only yesterday I’d rested happily in the thought that the woods are
ever changing, always fresh, rejuvenated every season, every day.
All well and good until the dancing man disappears without so much
as a by your leave, my dance card lying empty in the palm of my hand.