Thief

Resting the mind in the heart,
practicing the great healing mantra,
'I Don't Know,'
I attain the supremely liberated
blue-sky of Bodhichitta
in one sip of the rare cognac
of this breath,
which puts the vast cloud of my
hornet thoughts out of their misery
with the fragrance of emptiness.
Now I can listen and transcribe
the Sanskrit sounds that babies make:
'Hum, Ghoo, Phwt, Sah!'
I can let a thousand teenage angels
skate board round the vortex
of my belly button.
O little one, Neighbor,
your long-suffering headstand,
your most patient warrior pose,
are training wheels for dancing
naked while juggling stars.
Your crystal mala beads are just a handrail
leading to the edge of the cliff
where many ascetics leapt and fell,
discovering that they still had bodies.
You must take your ankles and teats,
tear ducts and glands full of laughter,
crows' feet in gray nests of hair
full of turquoise eggs, the whole
entanglement of this human
and animal sorrow with you,
with you, with you, like a thief
who runs away, carrying the dowry
of the emperor's daughter
between your bony shoulders.
Photo from Etsy