At the top of the mountain, I spread my outer robe on a rock to dry, set down my staff and bowl, took a deep breath, and looked around.
Then one morning, there I was, an old woman.
Where had I gotten in all those years on the Path?
That night I slept out in a field, and it rained.
Across the street, Ginkgo
sway in the breeze
like a gospel choir.
Samsara’s in every in-breath, each shutter click of attention: first warning
signs of famine, children lining up
for the soldiers’ candy
When he called for help,
they put him on hold
longer than he could stand
and he broke
the phone in half.