Through Posthumous Twilights Given

My arrival into discrepancy isn’t new
It’s as old as bristling diamond sparks
My glory in grief is minor
My shifting sequences are brittle
The love I bear is getting weaker
While to others, I’m merely a gentle fire
Unremarkable in illumined simplicity
My arrival into anonymity isn’t new
It’s as old as the Tao beclouded, austere
I go strolling and my dreams kiss older women
I’m almost unafraid to settle for silhouettes
Of the life I thought I’d lead
My glory in evergreen, cherry bloom shutters
Life is racing without consolation
Life, she will not be sending any more letters
To my heart ablaze at the stake
No warrior of God’s battalion of merits did I become
Simply as worried as if I’ll be able to forgive
The self-neglect of so much meaningless grieving.

On Buddha’s Birthday


I let go of all purses
All errors, all formulations
To recharge myself with
Non-duality, I go back
To the frequency of nature
I will to turn transparent
A sexless equanimity
Where all thoughts are exhausted
In the no-mind of flower-bliss
That land where the supreme
Is my front and back door
There, from the Divine’s heart
I will not know others and their
Trials, but I will smile back at them
With light of the butterfly’s arrival
With the knowing smile of the flower opening
I let go of all sights and desires
All attempts to possess escape me
To recharge myself I unhinge myself
From all that is not pure, so what is then left?
Nature’s course will allow me to
Melt into the stars I’ve studied alone
I have been too lazy to be ambitious
I throw the bundle of twigs in the fireplace
All that was once my life, I retire it
To the croaking solitude of the hermit life
The moonlit nights of early spring
Will have room for me to stretch out my legs
I always craved the ultimate reality
Where Buddha died in Ananda.

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