At the Teahouse, 6
am
Sunrise at the octagonal
hut;
beyond, where two decks meet,
a lizard does pushups in the sun.
I see the green, chattering world
through the window, I see
my image in the window.
Both are present; are both true?
A bee enters the hut, buzzes
insistently against the window,
but the window won't yield
to his wishes. I want to
show him the open door,
say this world through the glass
is only an illusion but I don't.
How long will he hurl himself
against the dusty glass? How long
will we believe we are not free?
beyond, where two decks meet,
a lizard does pushups in the sun.
I see the green, chattering world
through the window, I see
my image in the window.
Both are present; are both true?
A bee enters the hut, buzzes
insistently against the window,
but the window won't yield
to his wishes. I want to
show him the open door,
say this world through the glass
is only an illusion but I don't.
How long will he hurl himself
against the dusty glass? How long
will we believe we are not free?
~ Holly Hughes
~
(America Zen - A Gathering of
Poets)
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