To the temple of thought ​

​The summer sun
burns the Buddha’s hair.
​And the fingers of darkness
​guide the night owls.
​Breeding dark nights
after dark nights.
​Yet, hidden behind
a garden of willows
​no birth, no death.
​An untrimable light,
​with the power to
fashion this place.
​Around the wreaths of darkness,
​the flowers, the trees
​and the sky unfurl.
​And the days will become
long, and reasonable.
​The green paths of the new world.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s