詩; poetry

the cave

a gentle renunciation of preconceived rythm

climbing the mountain,
the grade steepens,
near vertical,
a cave now,
let’s rest.
the time short,
no backsliding, and
the ox is happy gently
it is blessed, no more
tests, it is at rest
sleeping, with one
eye opened, just
as elephants
in that
world.
now
we stir
ascending
once more to
stand and collect
our framed water sack
leaning forward, catching
making way to the mouth of the
cave, then looking beyond, to that
unknown peak, high, high above, we have
surpassed the clouds long ago and grasp the
only thing to be grasped, not for treasure, nor
glory, but the only thing that we have now together
understood with every molecule of our collective being; the
living mountain, the fire unbound, moving across
samsara.
to
the other
shore.
a stick
in
the mud,
now clear water
remains.