The Dharma I yearn for
Is the child of pine branch and wind
Born from the marriage of the unseen and the seen
A quiet, ceaseless, ancient
Shushing of all our chatter
So vast, fierce and refined
That every poem
Every song and scripture
Is returned to dust
And yet I can rest tenderly
Below breeze and bough
And walk on
With a heart less burdened
By this frantic, fragile life