The Trials

May all beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering.
~ from The Four Immeasurables


And in that tale, like bits of broken teeth,
like gems or brittle tears, a thousand grains

are spilled upon dark ground. Because the soul
looked full upon love’s face, it now must count

and gather, harvest shredded wool among the bramble,
stitch its craft of mortal longings to the impossible.

The stars, as always, withhold commentary.
Only the blossoms along the fence offer

sweet worth, stubborn hope; the thorns,
their pointed epistle: I wound to heal.


In response to thus: Night prayer.

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