The wick was primed, lit and trimmed regular like
the steadfast held on to the faint light of hope
if not for thier all
but all others
they shielded it from the wind
and the rain
and fed it with love and devotion
so it burned steady,
bright but not glaring
and they had to look hard
but all who searched
found it
Then lit their own wicks
primed and trimmed regular like
and just like that
it grew
and love happened
And they became free
because they could finally
see.

A sea so still, where waves don't crash.
A balcony
The moon won't see.
A hearth alone, that won't make ash.
This still from which I must be ripped.
Instead I pray
please take away
my thoughts, my heart. I lose my grip.

Shakyamuni's first thought:
This cannot be taught

But he saw the deer appear
And spun the Wheel to hear

Hidden in the Silence
An answer to the violence

Not fear: just sacred deer
Brown. Running: our eyes. our ears.