Flows & Patterns

Harvest

Pulling up their
cotton robes the smiling
monks wade thigh deep
into the lotus pond.

Cut a half-dozen
stems supporting blossoms
larger than I thought
were humanly possible.

Emerge with mud between
happy toes making wet
prints which dry within
minutes on the French

earth. Later in the dharma
hall our teacher
sits cross-legged
with the giant lotuses

cradled in a transparent
vase nearby.
If this is no more
than a metaphor

then what is the source
now of these warm
rapt tears: petal-soft
flow of tenderness down

human skin?

~ * ~