Fresh moss covers
the stone beds;
how many springtimes
was it the Master's?
His profile in meditation
has been sketched;
but the body of the meditator
has been burned.
Snow in the pines
has closed the pagoda courtyard;
dust settles in the lock
on the sutra library.
I chide myself
for these two tears--
a man who hasn't grasped
the empty nature of all things.
---When I Find You Again, It Will Be In Mountains, by Chia Tao---
No comments:
Post a Comment