Monday, April 15, 2013

Valentine Dharma


Our desire rides in
on gold-plated palanquins,
transporting our hearts
to the river of despair,
to be washed clean of their sins,
the sins of loving
that which was never ours to love. 

But that, too, is illusion.  The Buddha
teaches us to laugh, the boon
of non-attachment.  But tell me,
why do our thorny blunders
speak of the elasticity of passion
gone limp and timid
when truly our hearts beat
in watery beds, buoyed up
by the salt of experience,
floating not drowning.




               (This poem appears in the spring 2103 issue of Map Literary in a different form.)