by Bill Wyatt
early morning frost -
a woodpecker pecking holes
in eternity
morning meditation
out of the blue, a swallow
pops into my mind
the day constantly
changing - yet how rare it is
to open our hearts
cutting through it all -
there's no me and no person -
just this itchy nose!
when asked what is Zen -
I reply, a blind donkey caught
in the same old rut
end of the year -
despite my transgressions
I bow to Buddha
snowdrops & crocus
suffering in samsara -
followers of the way
obstinate & stupid
I while away the time -
haiku my downfall
passing her
on moonlit stairs -
her moth eyebrows
send me
a flutter
Bill Wyatt
Redthread thanks Bill Wyatt for permission to republish these poems from
Gleanings From the Throssel's Nest, Longread Publishing 2005


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