Poetry

What is the proper way
to savor the ripening of the day
without being attached to results?
Taste the fruits of this body,
remembering its woes?

Feel the turn in the seasons,
lose myself in this emptiness,
with awareness it is a garden,
find my way back again?

Take heart in the passage
of these passing forms,
charades on life’s stage.
Move with metaphors, 
the ways they transform.

Court the dream, without fear 
of nightmare themes.
Dare to hope, straining in the tug 
of the hangman’s rope.
Desire love’s ecstasy,
aware of its tears of misery.

Rock and roll to the poetry streaming
through my window without expiring
in the heat of its fire. Hear rhythm
with ears attuned to sour notes
included in its airs and tones. 

Behold the immanence of presence,
seeking transcendence,
in this wheel of impermanence.

Thrive on life’s paradox,
avoiding the snare of this sly fox.

Heartbroken within these koans,
of my own making, I wish
I had the answer to these seething
questions. If I did, I would end
this ceaseless questing,

giggle,
rushing towards the call, 
a mountain stream in free fall, 
mist rising, rocks below.