Comfortably seated inside the cave, sensual, kind, adoring.
Unwelcome callers in boats with oars, raising their flags, exploring.
Pebbles blow sideways, hitting the walls, glittering ground at your feet.
Where do the windows face? To the heavens? Or out to the quivering streets?
Unwelcome callers in boats with oars, raising their flags, exploring.
Pebbles blow sideways, hitting the walls, glittering ground at your feet.
Where do the windows face? To the heavens? Or out to the quivering streets?
Close calls breaking the chilly morning, melting the afternoon.
Talking of listening, ears to the wind, howling around the moon.
Pull up the bridge before they arrive. If you wait, they’ll come through the door.
Mercury dipping out of sight, tongues flailing words unsure.
Exquisite the bells, the tones, the knowledge, gifts from the seven directions.
As unwitting peddlers in stylish clothes, lay claim to uncertain inflection.
Sit tight through the spiral, meshed in the day, transparent, alive, planned.
True Wisdom, in layers, bequeaths only those who attend to the moment at hand.
