The Sage

The Hermit by John Singer Sargent (1908)

Rumors in town

about the hermit

A sage who sought solace

deep within the whispering woods.

Hungry, I sought you out

To hear your wise words

And in reply you gave me

Nothing.

For three long days

I sat at your stoop

Watching you come

Watching you go

fetch water, meditate,

feed your orange cat.

For a moment I suspected

your act of clipping your nails

Was a shrouded message

of inevitability.

Your silence

I could not

even characterize

as indifferent,

for that would be

something.

Amidst the chilled rain

of the third night,

when even the crickets

refused to sing,

I left in despair.

I held a stone,

black on one side,

white on the other,

all I got from you

was a sneeze.

So I climbed the

mountain to the pinnacle

where I tossed the rock

from the highest peak.

I hope it lands on your head.