Translucent

All I could say there and back
was aah!
either because it was so beautiful
or so difficult. I

took refuge
in a bus shelter
while the storm blew over

half-way down the Chester trail
I decided I was
no longer a Buddhist; I became

the patch of dirt
under my front tire;
and the chunks of gravel
that threatened to topple my pack; became

the trees that stood at attention
and saluted as I rode by; and
the wildflowers that surprised me
with vibrant halos; became

the blackberry thorns
that tore at my wrists while I
reached for the luscious fruit; became

the gulls that waited for scraps on the shore;
and the tiny islands, motionless
on a sea of glass; became

the cup of coffee, the kindness
of a fellow traveler who gave me hot water
from his trailer; became

the flute songs of the krishna
of beer and sourdough; became

a pair of gulls floating on the jet stream
that introduced themselves
to a friendly box kite; became

the ripples on the wrinkling skin of the lake; became

the breath that swirled between our lips,
tongues that brushed each other; became

the gondolier of Melusine
whose voice swam naked in my ears

the trappings of religion
disappeared, and wisdom
became atmosphere
—translucent.