Hidden
One...One Buddha is enoughOne...One Buddha is not enoughOne...Buddha is enoughOne...One is BuddhaOne...
I am breathing now for an old Buddhist monkSmall as the first moonHidden in the stillness of the heron's breathless, emerald wingAnd for the yoga that Christ taughtOn his Tree of Love.
Though the sun may sit like a chariot on stilts of flame and cherry glassSuffering into happinessThe way of empty handsChanting the secrets that make it bright.
And the wicked,In that Palace of Ruins,Curse the purenessIts purse of one coin.
The small shadows of this day we are givenBolted into the thrush of emptinessAnd here on a Dantean hill,Confusions may brewWhen the Tea-singers begin their vows of silence.
In the raiment of this townNot of the sun's risingA tear of sadness for all the worldly joyAs moths return to their torched gravesAnd springs arrive early in every seasonTelegraphed into their own heart of good fortuneChanting, "One Buddha is not enough."
Buddha.
Springs arrive early in every season.
One Buddha is enough.