I have watched you dancing with these trees
Their fall leaves swaying back and forth.
The breezes twirl them east, then west.
You are in the wind itself, smiling as they kick up their heels.
Their reds and golds linger, cling, as if firmly attached
To branches which continue to hold
Their bright aliveness and resolution … to remain —
As if their bending and rising can defy impermanence.
Yet, you know, your gentle face looking forward, how the dance will end.
These leaves will fall and arrange themselves around your temple,
Patterned in configurations of a colored world
Which will soon become brown and lifeless — Ah, Buddha. Ah, miracle.
