Zen Life Poem # 22

​We are small,
​the smallest stone
​in a field of stones.
​Huddled in a tiny
​interior, lit by black.
​Walking only where
​stilts are safe.
Somewhere, the black
and the light meet.
A fusion of the two.
Dividing man from man,
and woman from woman.
This is the silence of living,
and a changed skin.
This is the way.

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