The Buddha in the Womb
Bobbing in the waters of the womb,
little godhead, ten toes, ten fingers
& infinite hope,
sails upside down through the world.
My bones, I know, are only a cage
for death.
Meditating, I can see my skull,
a death’s head,
lit from within
by candles
which are possibly the suns
of other galaxies.
I know that death
is a movement toward light,
a happy dream
from which you are loath to awaken,
a lover left
in a country
to which you have no visa,
& I know that the horses of the spirit
are galloping, galloping, galloping
out of time
& into the moment called NOW.
Why then do I care
for this upside-down Buddha
bobbling through the world,
his toes, his fingers
alive with blood
that will only sing & die.
There is a light in my skull
& a light in his.
We meditate on our bones only
to let them blow away
with fewer regrets.
Flesh is merely a lesson.
We learn it
& pass on.
