Bus Stop

I stood for a while at an old bus stop.
Many years ago. I was waiting for a bus.
I had somewhere to go, I think...

I just stood there. Looking at old wounds.
And healing them, one by one.
I had surrendered myself to death.
And thinking I'd have to leave this world, I gathered love.

I was there. For a long time. I had to stay.
When evening fell, the intoxicating scent of night jasmine drove me wild. The tree was right beside me.

On this very day—many years ago, and many years hence;
the tree was there and will be there.

The bus stop is still there today. In exactly the same place.
Even now people come and stand there, waiting.

Everyone calls it a bus stop.
I and the others who have stood there, we call it time.