Thursday, March 25, 2010

A Bowl

Imagine the time the particle you are
returns where it came from.

The family darling comes home. Wine,
without being contained in cups,
is handed around.

A red glint appears in a granite outcrop,
and suddenly the whole cliff turns to ruby.

At dawn I walked along with a monk
on his way to the monastery.

We do the same work, I told him.
We suffer the same.

He gave me a bowl, and I saw.
The soul has this shape.

Shams, and actual sunlight, help me now,
being in the middle of being
partly in myself, and partly outside.