Thursday, 25 July 2013

Clouds Of Becoming

Stones dark stained
mosses so verdant now –
dharma rain falling silently.

As one heart 
speaks to another,
the blossom remains
 on the tree.

Each breath

each moment of bright hope,
even the longing
becomes a song.

As I drift away
on this slow boat,
perchance we may meet
if only in a dream.

The bowl
now empty and cool,
taste lingering on.

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