This puzzle piece of mine,
shape-shifting, amorphous creature
hazy outlines gliding
smoothly through the dust
amoeboid, relaxed
until I try to squeeze it
into some enchanting spot.
 
This one looks right
I say, a stopping place
to stay awhile
but soon I find
a tiny edge, a
corner out of sync
it doesn't fit at all
I must move on.
 
So am I not
a puzzle piece?
Nor nut nor bolt
nor nail to hold and work
the mechanisms
of this world?
Am I a fly
avoiding happy ointments,
a dragonfly perhaps
skimming surfaces but
never diving in.
 
The other day
I saw the looming Buddhas
far above, unmoving, serious
and thought that
they are cold too cold.
I do not care
to go there nor
the places of the saints,
their clouds or kingdoms
in the sky away from
warmth, vitality.
I do not envy them
nor those who yearn
to be there too.
 
We travelers and other
tourists to this realm
walking watching
looking into other people's
windows, those who have a spot
to look out from.
I wonder what its like, sometimes
to see from inside out.
 
Ask me not
about my home
so long ago.
I only saw it from
the second balcony.
I never understood that place
why those people thought
those thoughts.  I only knew
they'd never let me
find my way.
 
I met instead
some grinning jester
weaving in and out
amongst the crowds,
whispering "what if?
what if?"  He
hinted at the
endless possibilities
his laughter and
his rubber face
daring me to look offstage
to find another road.
"Gurus only tell you
someone else's journey
someone else's quest,"
the jester said
his eyes alight.
"They cannot know
what's there for you.
It's time for open eyes
to see what props and
characters appear, what
visions emanate.
Your way begins
in every place,
in every time."
   
and so I left
so long ago
before my glue had set.
I see the jester
now and then
and other wandering souls.
We smile and nod
and talk awhile
and go on
down the road.

 

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