What if I told you
that the wind writes haiku
or that the moon sweeps leaves across the grass at night?
And what if I told you that rain sings an octave higher than Monet
or that the mountain in the distance is lord of the sea?
Would you know what I mean?
What if a white crane, a Zen master standing on one leg,
looked at you and said, “You know. You certainly know”?
What if I told you that all of my poems are really one poem,
the lines mere leaves, like Whitman’s, combing the grass?
Would colors start to appear on the palette of your soul?
And what if I were a crane standing on one leg
and asked you “What if?”
A pebble falls into the pond, and ripples begin to spread.
You know the answer. You most certainly know.