Buddha sits...

(in every conceivable direction)

finger painting a field

of flowers, while breathing

through billions of

human beings.

he remains breathless...

( directionless)

the chest of his sky no longer

heaves, but knows its heart

above all else.

rarer than a bird that realizes

it's flying.

as color is blind of itself, because

its spectrum's sight is so profound.

Buddha sits...

finger painting a field of flowers.