Jeremy Seligson writes

18.

C

O

L

D

R

O

C

K

T

E

M

P

L

E

Water

                        fog

                                                            stone

                                                                                    bridge

                                                                                                                        wooden
                                                                                                                   gate

Shoes

            on

                        worn~

                                    out

                                                steps

            A

                        gnarled

                                                pine

Sounds

                   of

                             fish

                                      chimes

Lotus

            has

                        gone

            ~ Iris

                        and

                                    Lily

Only

          Goldy

                        waits

                                    below

You

            ask

                        the

                                    gold

                                                fish,

            “Where

                   has

                             Froggie

                                      gone?’

 

Goldy

            shivers

                        under

            your

                        shoes

You

            ask,

                        “Where

                             has

                   Buddha

                             gone?”

Ice

            on

                        lotus

                                    pots

            ~ there

                        goes

                                    a

                                      cold

                                                            carp

            “What’s

this

            feeling …?”

                                    “Lonely”

          “You’re

                        drowning

                                                in

                                                a

                             lotus

                                      pot ...”

                                                         x

                                                 x   X  x

                  

                                                            old

                                                silver

                                                            beard

                                                                        golden

                                                            scales

                                                                        x x x

                                                x x

                                      X X

                                      x

                             Blue

                    lotus

                             cup ~

            from

                        bottom

            a

                        bubble

                                    spills

                                                over

                                                            side

          L o t u s

                   f r a y s

            u n d e r~

                         w a t e r

           

                                    “It’s

                                                how                                                    

                        a

                                    good

                                                monk

                                                            dies”

                                   

Silly

          nun

                        basket

                                    in

                                                hand

                        for

                                    scraps ~

No

            wonder

                                    cats

                                                black

                                    and

                        white

                                    calico

                        and     

                                     a

                        gray

                                    kitten

                                                follow

                                    down

                                                lane

                                    “Once

                        I

            only

                        fed

                                    my~

                                                self,”

                                    she

                                                chuckles

                        “Now,

          it’s

                    every

                             cat!”

          Young

                        monks

                                    grip

                                                straw

                                                            hats

                        Old

                             One

                        sits

                                    down

As

            you

                        bow,

            each

                        monk

                                    bows

                                               

            (O’

                        so

                                    cordially)                    

to

          the

                    Buddha

                             inside

            Through

                        rain~

                                    bow

                                                lattices,

                        you

                                    spy

                                                      G o l d

                                        B u d d h a’s

                                      m o u s t a c h e

Under

            a

                        jade

                                    roof

          Gold

          Buddha

          smiles

                        from

                                    his

                        lotus

                                    chair

           

                                    Alone,

                        a

            cave

                       

Buddha’s

            3rd

                   Eye

                                                                                                                                                           

                                                     Slow

                                                around

                        Buddha’s

            Hall

old

          hunch~

                   back

                                    snuffs

                                      out

                             each

                   candle’s

          light

                                      Our   

                             fat

                                      baby

                                                            snores                                               

                                                                       

                                                in

                                    “the

                                                Hall

                                                            of

                                                                        10,000

                                                                                    Buddhas”

                                    Old

                                      monk

                                                            pats

                                      your

                                                hand

                                                hugs

                                    your

                                                baby

                                                            daughter

                                    accepts

                        your

                                    wife’s

                                                gift

                                    of

                                                plum

                                                            vinegar

                                                ~ following

                                                          day,

                                                dies

                             Choco

                                                leaf,

                                                            bug~

                                                eaten

                                                            beauty

                                    “Thank

                   you,

                             sire,

            for

                        falling

                                     in

                        my

                                    hand”

                   Leaf

            b u s t s

                        to

                                    b i t s

            of

                   b u g s

                                    ~ your

                                                life

                                                            was

                        With

            a

                        zillion

                                    leaves

                                                ~ the

                             hole

                                                sinking

                                                            into

                                    Grab

                                                stick ~

                        pole

                             on

                                      through

            the

                        Sea

                                    of

                                                Leaves

Climb

            up

                        to

                             the

                                      moon

            ~ sit

                        in

                                    Buddha’s

                                                Paradise

            Up

                        high

                                    Mother

                                                calls

                                                            us,

                                                                   “Tea …!”

          By

                        the

                                    temple

                                                bell,

                        a

                                    boy

                                                kneels

offers

            you

                        leaves

                                   

            counts

                        the

                             drum~

                                      beats

                             of

                                      your

                                                heart

                        Forty~

                             nine

                                       days ~

                                    a

                                                snowy 

                                                            white

                                                          beard ~

                        wife,

                                    children,

                                                grand~

                                                            kids,

                                                                        too

                                    Old

                                      monks

                                                            chant

                                                                                    kazoos

                                                                                                blare

            cymbals

                        clang

                                                drums

                                                            bang

                        Young

                             nuns

                                   

                                                crane

                                                            dance

                                                                        by

                                                                                    the

                                                                                                stream

         

                                                            100                                                                                                                                 years

                                                                                                                                                                                   

                                                ~ the

                                                            mourning

                                                                                    of

                                                                       

           

                                                            a

                                                                        single

                                                                                    day
           

Daughter

shouts, oh so

gladly ~ “Daddy’s

done!!!”