The wind of years have left their deposits
shaping these bristly surface features —
in tall evergreens, mountain paths lead on
climbing to the evening stars by moon light
Zen masters intone into the depths stillness
a pool invisible to the tumbled pebbles below
there to quiet the serpent's restless hiss

Our guide, upon the surface drops, a wave
whose motion spreads from placid center
its formless hands compel the earth to spin
like myriad worlds amongst celestial planes
shaping these seeming solid silhouettes
props to lean and fall upon in stumbling train
though mortal coil unwinds, emptyness florets

-cec