The Torch

The Glory of Earth

Beneath the green canopy

Black dragonflies

Give chase

Amidst water-worn rocks

And stray sunbeams.

The old woman

On a hammock strung

Between two trees

Reminds me of

The spider’s web

In the hollow space

Of a dead trunk.

Roots unearth

Like snakes

Wearily crawl

From hidden dens

Where fallen trees

Display their valor,

A desperate soldier’s claim

To the glory of earth.

A Walk in the Park

No map is needed

To find the Natural Way.

Any path will do.

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What do the signs say?

It’s no cause for concern.

Feet and mind will meet.

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The bird does not know

Why it croons to its lover

But it knows its song.

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We thinkers are cursed

To walk circuitous routes.

Doom is salvation.

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The end of this path

Is only the beginning

Of the one true Way.

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Each in our own heart,

A beautiful flower blooms

Where fertile soil breathes.

The Torch

This spiritual tradition

Is a torch,

A tumultuous sun,

In the center of the

Void

Within me,

The hollow cavity

Where a heart used to be.

Despite the imprecations

And exhortations

Of shepherds,

It is my solitude,

And not their solicitude,

That has saved me.

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