Not content to let things rest
after the rubbing out
of all this and all that,
it's another life of time.
Another spell of winning and losing.
Through the mill again.
The grindstone is turning:
in here is feeling,
out there is known.
Between them it's endurance;
and guesses at letting go:
doing birth's a wayfarer's thing.
But things can go horribly wrong...
and every winnowed mood,
every husk of need and fear,
get lusting to have its world...
and be me again, and seeking you,
serving and praising and fumbling.
Another dying constellation.
But I know you won't give up –
pushing out from your haunted womb
through promise and gasp and struggle;
through clutch and hang on and lose;
through perfumed bliss and plastic truths...
and every radiant contraction....
Until things stop here, clean and real.
And I'm strong enough to bear you;
and wise enough to kill you.
Until I'm old enough to love you.
From: Travels in the Middle Land, Dhamma Moon, 2013.