Homecoming

 

How many times

must I hear Buddha say,

"breathe in, breathe out,"

before I can do it myself?

I got tired of being spiritual.

So I came home

to the place where Buddha-mind 

and my mind are one

cerulean sky

wrapped around a robin’s egg

in a bold little nest on a lilac tree

by the back porch.

Came home and built a fire,

made coffee.

Took out my mother's

bone China cup

and ran my fingers

over the crazing, the lace

of imperfections in all

that once was white.

We’re full of cracks

and dark patches, aren’t we?

Millions of moist lips

on the verge of a single kiss.

I came home to hug you.

The world feels brown and blue.

Got tired of being spiritual.

Now I’m just

Being.

 

 

Photo: Buddha on my porch under the lilac tree