Strive
He has nothing left but a triangle of faces,
An old rake,
And a heart that won't stop beating
For all the invisibility of life:
The pushing of a boat upstream,
The angular intentions of voices,
The steel nob of your car door,
The shouts against the wind.
On his beath bed the Buddha urged us to
Strive.
Copyright © Matt Caliri | Year Posted 2009
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