One Hand Clapping

I'm happy and I'm knowin'

If I clap my hand

To answer the koan

That I don't understand

.

My God can make a rock, I'm praying

So big He cannot lift it

And my words, go, without saying

For those—who dealt it—sniffed it

.

I bought, cheaply, Eleanor Rigby's jar

At a shop of sundries, knickknacks, and baubles

And reach, discretely, through the curio door

Of the cabinet I hide my troubles

.

God gives me, only, what,

The extent of that, I can handle

Yet I cannot help to pass it on, but

To those burning both ends, my candle

.

Those passing on the street I walk

With my regrets so firmly tucked

Think they know at which face they bark

The wrong tree, up, they deconstruct

.

And so I go, well on my way

Down roads most often traveled

And grin and guide my face astray

From True North, safe, ungaveled