gesture of space opening above all this
even though it neither knows nor cares
but allows the pines to stand their brittle spears
and the snow to blaze and crunch and squeal
and the valley to draw its warm wings
over the cluster of night-lit houses
and we can climb and struggle together
and feel touched by a wordless praising
so that we step out of history
over its edge into thin clear air
with its sound like crystals singing
for every brief, blossoming snowflake
though we never wanted such freedom
it will come
it will come out of inevitable mountains
it will leave nothing behind
but their clawed and weathered fingers
glinting light, carving decisions
this is Amida Buddha's blessing mudra
before he claps his hands
From: Travels in the Middle Land, Dhamma Moon, 2013.