I sit on a lotus
petal and observe a mountain in the distance.
It floats above the horizon like a mirage,
and perhaps it is.
The flower rises from muddy water and
climbs the sky
like an avatar blossoming into sevenfold
salvation,
opening and closing to the royal rhythm of
a rishi.
But the mountain is suddenly anchored to
igneous rock,
and I am seated on a fallen tree trunk, a
failed aspiration.
My path to the divine traverses rutted
roads
that do not blossom into green meadows of
enlightenment.
My feet gather bone dust on heel and toe,
heel and toe.
I will not float to the heavens on a blue
petal wing.
I shall take the long way home and study
the toad and fern
and the humdrum ministrations of the
potter’s wheel.
I will plumb the depths of eveningtide
when humble crickets sing.
~William Hammett
Site Map
No comments:
Post a Comment