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.