Wednesday, August 17, 2022


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

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