Just this morning it happened: June’s plague.
Squirrels by the dozen descended from nearby trees
choice yellow mangoes left violated, bitten on the vine.
Mosquitoes similarly stung a feast on my ankles
and beside me, turned my dog’s butternut flank red.
I drank a cup of coffee followed by a glass of water.
And I remembered a woman who sits zazen with us
All she does is tell us about how her husband left:
how she wants to die and then kill him–unaware
of her irony. I wonder: am I any different?
The ants that march by me in single file
each one carrying a crumb from last night,
the coffee that wakes me, the blood I let
to mosquitoes swarmed at my ankles,
the squirrels’ mango feast on my tree,
the woman who believes the Dharma,
the Sangha and the Buddha
are three Jewels meant only for her:
how are any of these different?
At this thought, ten thousand ants
lifted me up from under the grass patch
where I sat and carried me away with them.