ALONG THE MIDDLE WAY

Each day he stops briefly
in the small park along the path,
and picks up a pebble which he tucks
in the coin pocket of his jeans.
There it rests until he comes
the pond where he sits on the shore
staring out into the heart of the water.
He pulls the pebble and tosses it
in a high arc, always trying to land it
in the center of the pond, where he
can watch the ripples slowly proceed
toward him, and hitting the edge,
echo back toward the center, diminished.
This morning he followed his pattern,
sat on the edge and let fly the pebble
which landed squarely, but this day
there were no ripples, just the mirror
still surface of the pond, and he
began the slow walk home, knowing
he would never visit this pond again,
for he was now on a very different path.

ARDEIDAE MORNING

He stands still
staring at
the ever changing
surface of the pond,
which he knows
holds infinite possibility
that he does
not wish to disturb,
lest the moment
be forever lost.
Nothing else
matters to him
as he calmly,
and ever so slowly,
lifts his leg
in tree pose,
and reaches out
with unfurled
wings to grasp
the breeze of
a perfect
heron morning.

LINJI WAS(N’T) HERE

I very strongly doubt
that Linji ever walked
along this path, given
that it wasn’t even here
fifty years ago.
He never saw the egret
staring back across the pond,
or the flock of ibis doing
what seem like prostrations.
He did not see any of this,
which saddens me a great deal,
but taking careful steps,
and following my breath,
I walk gently
in his footsteps.