Walking from the Hara
I stop under a willow to gaze:
Mallard drifting in frontyard pond
Yellow #2’s draped around me
New buds piercing through
A chance to inspect
Breathing from the Hara
I look into Buddha’s eyes from some dimensionless Paradise.
Heart beats to the rhythm of the crows song.
What is the space thoughts speak into.
I’m always telling stories
And always willing to listen