The dog found him in the weeds filthy,
flea-infested, eyes crusted shut, clearly
taking mortification of the flesh a little too
far in this lifetime, he arrived with nothing
but total faith in our reluctant compassion.
He has left us precious gifts, a flightless
bird, some foolish shrews, a greedy
mouse or two, reminders of our brevity
in days, the suffering that comes unbidden
early in the morning to sacrifice’s back door.
Sometime today, I locked him in the closet
accidentally, and he is found waiting like the lotus,
no recrimination, no anger, only enlightenment
from darkness, as sure of his dharma as he knows
he is my teacher, he is the Buddha.
I’m writing a poem every day in April as part of NaPoWriMo’s celebration of National Poetry Month. Won’t you join me in poetry?