Buddha Image

wood worn naked round the chest
the gold leaf flaking
the splintered foot with its wormholes

such blossoms

two hands open
softly raised

the forefingers cocked over
touching each thumb-tip

between them
a thread of silence

of how I don’t know
being held
in the nothing he knows

My need swells up, swallows its howl, stands like a rock.

Shape it, rub the rough surface bare-handed.

Polish it with the tattered skin of all these years.

As he arises, strides
out of the roar that was once a howl,

all that mass, faces peeling off, heaving with cries,
sees its strange beauty.

On the other side of solitude
the broad harbour

small boats perch on their reflections
an egret unfolds into its white

in the misty town
we’ll talk again

Posted: Sun 20 Mar, 2016