The Buddha raised the flower and…
As if it were that simple.
As if the mind did not stray, like pollen lifts
As if the longing did not pull, like petals to the earth
As if the stomach did not turn, dizzy stems yearning sunward
As if the back did not strain, vines grasping to the nearest firm
As if the muscles could not be scratched, thousand pest bites taunting
And the heart bleed into itself for thirst, this perennial karmic binding.
