6/5/04
Giant toes in sunken granite,
rock carved by the pressure
of greatness.
The Buddha walked this land.
I wash my face in this spring
as if enlightenment can come
by osmosis.
My footprints do not alter stone.
No temples shall be built
around them.
Still tiny fault-lines branch.
The world is cracked by sorrow
as countless sentient beings weep
in unison.
The path is forked before me:
Do I stop the flow from
my own eyes
or strive to end all tears?
A question of sacrifice—
How much am I willing to give up
To give my self to the world?
