April 11^th, 2023

Forty-some years
I’ve lived in the mountains
Ignorant of the world’s rise and fall
Warmed at night
by a stove full of pine needles
Satisfied at noon
by a bowl of wild plants
Sitting on rocks
watching clouds and empty thoughts
Patching my robe
in sunlight practicing silence
Till someone asks
why Bodhidharma came east
And I hang out my wash.