Touching the World

 

A Buddhist monk seldom spills a drop of water

Almost never engaging in a movement without purpose

Ever thoughtful

I would like to have this intimate, fluid reciprocation with the waking world



Observing this graceful spirit

In the art of arraigning a bouquet of flowers

So measured is the placement of each blushing blossom

As if the fate of the galaxy hangs in the balance

If it were

I would put my faith in these tender hands

As he filters the spring bounty into graceful order

My crashing chaos subsides into peaceful scenery

I lose myself in minutes

Along with the weight of my work unfinished



Sometimes I feel like a massive bull murdering my way through Barcelona

He shows me how to pour tea properly

As a stream cascades into a fall over a beautiful shoulder

Please teach me how to return the touch to these fingers

So my energy colors the world as the sound waves of a soulful singer

I do not care to be remembered once I am gone

Only wanting to light the lanterns in the tunnel of the issues I've overcome 

To help the next child in darkness

Find the way to warming sun