He brings only his blankest pages
and his highest spirit flute
to the hill’s crest; fasts from sunrise
to sunrise; watches only fire and
……………..He waits; all without reward.
Birdsong remains discordant.
He sees only that he has no visions.
His journal’s pages remain blank;
his Windpony fails him, remains mute.
He’s tried too hard:
Enlightenment can only be enticed;
will not submit to capture.
Returning, an old man, ages later,
after a lifetime of silence,
he notes the infinite shades of green
along the ridge, the dance of wind
everywhere about him,
the shadows of clouds on clover.
dVerse Poets Pub
Open Link Night
~ OLN #293 ~