MY BODHI TREE
I'm going to miss you someday
when all this is over.
I may make pilgrimages to visit you
and spread out the meditation cushions
just like old times, these times
mornings like this one.
The morning will come when I will hardly remember.
But not just yet.
Mornings like this one
where I sit beside my sinking self
close the eyes, and let the blue pain roll
like glorious waves of soul
as sharks try to be dolphins.
I will remember, like a war holiday
and uncap a beer and pour some of it on the ground
over your roots bickering old buddy,
let the brass band play
as the great parade of the newly liberated marches by.
Those three young trees over there,
I used to meditate there at first.
Each is more beautiful than you will ever be.
But three trees is too many.
How can you love three trees?
Like having three wives.
No, one plain looking tree is enough.
I have one tree, not much of a tree,
to love well.
Better to love one well.
I will miss you, though I will not miss these moments.
like dead leaves passing under an old bridge.
I will be cheaply sentimental
when they have lost their knives.
I sit beside myself in your shade
which does not judge me
which is why I love you.
Look - that bird has my wings.