a poem before my 12th mountain pilgrimage


We…

you, me.

We’re moving through quite a stretch,

aren’t we?


I can feel the waves now

30 days out.


Waves.

They come, they go —

one after another.

Beyond the control

beyond the control

even of the moon

or endless lineages of tathagatas.


Cycling

cycling

cycling appearances.

Appearances.

Appearances.


Here we are…

again.


What is this traveling that we do?

We come, we go, we return.

We come, we go, we return.

We come, we go, we return.


We spend a lifetime

trying to remember each other’s faces,

each other’s souls.

We come, we go, we return.


We put on different labels

and all of them fail us.

We come, we go, we return.


We come,

we go,

we return.


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