Buddha Moon

Pin Oak, Hemlock, Black Walnut: When the great Chaos named these trees The Wind that touches us all carried these names to us. In utero, before I even knew what words were - Before I learned how names could disjoint and categorize, Before I knew Song, there was Wind In the flirtations of mosquitoes, In the graceful applause of flapping birds in flight., Before I knew the hammering of the clock There were acorns dropping through Forest canopies Tapping at the feathery bed of raw umber pine needles That is Forest's floor below. Tree Frog sings of Night to come As Holy Dusk fills space left by vacant leaves And craggy branches as they wave madly about. A Buddha Moon rises to rest its belly Over the closing lids of Sunlight’s eyes And skips Horizon’s rope to wake me wide.