I listened intently
on the plant's
soil drink the
water poured...
seated before it,
The Medicine Buddha's
only thought.

A pearl
is the world's
ghost...refusing
to come out of
it's shell.

Winds are ways
wrought
by what they pass...
they digress,
change connotes alas.

Art martialed
strikes at the center
of sap's flow...
to make or
break what wood,
or wood not.

Now never parts
with itself...it's a
black and white
hole showering
itself with centripetal
points.

Up with wakefulness,
mid daydream.
Down with sleepfulness...
mid dream.
Sun of sun, Moon of moon...
mid I-I temple.

As if held on high,
a mind's mind
offers its staked
parameters.
Gone as a thought
entire...light at the
wings whose feathers
weigh worlds.
A creator is
created, without a
chance to decry
loneliness.
Till the reconciliation of
a mind's mind will
become supreme
bliss.