The Buddha in the Womb

Bobbing in the waters of the womb,

little godhead, ten toes, ten fingers

& infinite hope,

sails upside down through the world.



My bones, I know, are only a cage

for death.

Meditating, I can see my skull,

a death's head,

lit from within

by candles

which are possibly the suns

of other galaxies.



I know that death

is a movement toward light,

a happy dream

from which you are loath to awaken,

a lover left

in a country

to which you have no visa,

& I know that the horses of the spirit

are galloping, galloping, galloping

out of time

& into the moment called NOW.



Why then do I care

for this upside-down Buddha

bobbling through the world,

his toes, his fingers

alive with blood

that will only sing & die.



There is a light in my skull

& a light in his.

We meditate on our bones only

to let them blow away

with fewer regrets.



Flesh is merely a lesson.

We learn it

& pass on.