How is it possible that I have balanced before
Maitreya, carved from the unreborn stone
Yet remain beclouded, unenlightened
As in earliest life as basest creature?
Reach out and tickle the Buddha,
Yet he does not spark the final measure
Of illumination to sort out the mysteries
My life has haphazardly cataloged?
This peak flew from far away, I am here,
Having flown likewise, from far away.
I will never be here again, suppliant,
Prostrate, head a gong from ivy bell rung.
Opportunity lost? No, for the composite
Understanding that clogs my path
Yet accepts limits not perceived, even
If discerned discretely in the shadows.
The joy that comes from unexpected
Revelation stays true to form, satori,
Despite the loss of kenning now flush
In the youthful experience of for-never.
