The sea after the storm, a neat, roughed up skin,
that is exactly what your own skin now wishes and gets,
goose-bumps glittering with foam and sunlight
haze-free in the clashing roar, the wave-crests charging upon the shore,
the wilderness’ marrow expanding in the morning.
After bathing in the sizzling frenzy
you sit and shiver and sense the simplicity
of Buddha’s all-is-an-illusion flash,
he must have never left what you are now touching for a moment
the quickness, the quicksilver sweeping strength of things,
he must have felt the utter joy
of sitting still while being swept away
as he had always been, in the park under the banyan tree,
far from the storm, the river flat in the heat.
This poem was published by Nimrod ( The Muse of Attachment) Tulsa, U.S., in 2005.
After six years I have just submitted again to this magazine.