Spirals
Like a dog I wait
to bless you now for your patience.
Mother comes out of you, father to,
and my son makes a cradle for me
with his elegant fingers.
Many backward facing faces
lead me to this grateful surrender,
Many an ancestral backbone
we have climbed as a hand-made ladder
together.
Yes, I see you now,
you are mirrored in the clear eyes of an infant.
I die to yesterday and tomorrow,
dismissing the warped mirage
of any looking glass.
The birth of death is sweet,
it flutters newborn
upon the lips of the young and old.
All I have known and ever shall know
is recorded upon a handwritten heaven
as a story
told to one Buddha to another,
I will not call you: future, present or past,
nor consider this self to be a rock planted
in any time or place.
All is ever becoming,
for the seed is far-far greater
than any tree,
and to know this is to understand
the beauty of nothing.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2024
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