Autumn

 

Pay attention.
A crumb
fallen from the alter, 
stuck to the janitor's boot-sole,
still
the body of God.
This breath
descending into the belly,
rising into the forehead
like mist over a pond.
A deer trail
circling back on itself
in the greenbelt between 
condominiums.
Not quite full,
the moon among red leaves
at morning.
Three unharvested tomatoes
glowing hollow
as lanterns.
A spider flings its
silken path homeward
from your old garden buddha
to the withered rose.
Now the last evening light
fondles small things
like the hand of the dying,
not with regret
but inextinguishable
gratitude.

Zen garden, Kyoto