A dust-shape drifting through drifts of snow
down a worn path to temporary shelter.
Escape by plunging into life –
this is the practice given to me.
Not fanciful ideas of life –
but walking out onto the lake,
the ice thinner the farther I get from shore,
as I glide and slip into next-to-nothing
in this floating world timeless and invulnerable.
When I break through at last, they tell me,
suddenly I will become nothing and everything
at the same propitious moment but right now
the excursion is simply everything,
nothing and enough; more than enough.
O child of God, who is there to hear you
above the wind’s icy roar?
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