Buddha Image
1
wood worn naked round the chest
the gold leaf flaking
the splintered foot with its wormholes
such blossoms
2
two hands open
softly raised
the forefingers cocked over
touching each thumb-tip
between them
a thread of silence
of how I don’t know
being held
in the nothing he knows
3
My need swells up, swallows its howl, stands like a rock.
Shape it, rub the rough surface bare-handed.
Polish it with the tattered skin of all these years.
As he arises, strides
out of the roar that was once a howl,
all that mass, faces peeling off, heaving with cries,
sees its strange beauty.
4
On the other side of solitude
the broad harbour
small boats perch on their reflections
an egret unfolds into its white
in the misty town
we’ll talk again