October 17^th, 2026

At the north window, icy drafts
Whistle through the cracks.
At the south pond, wild geese
Huddle in snowy reeds;
Above, the mountain moon
Is pinched thin with cold,
Freezing clouds threaten
To plunge from the sky.
Buddhas might descend to this world
By the thousands,
They couldn’t add or subtract one thing.

Hakuin