Bury the Lead, a Poem

buddhas
leave a trail
of broken things
on the way
to the bodhi tree

they
step in shit
they get
un, non, mis
anti-transcendent
raging and throwing
tantrums

like children
tied to their
toys
rapt attention
attached

eventually
their purpose served
things that can break
fall away

all the knots unravel

not now
not yet
not this
not ready

there is always
a contraction
a last spasm
before
the look
of astonishment
settles in

child like

here
open this gift
of empty
perfection

simply put
life
can only happen
right
fucking
now

my friend’s
voice deepens
the moment lengthens
and the thread
connects

to the
absolute
present

he is
an invitation
to
the essence
alive in this moment

“I am not my ego
I am awareness
that observes it.”

nothing is broken
just different

Here I am
now
recipient of this gift
when so long
I thought
I was the giver

thank you
friend
I love you

that’s where I
should have started

I’ve buried the lead
following the thread
that doesn’t change

like Stafford’s The Way It Is

now you
friend
take a ride
through the hills
leaning into the curves

and take a walk
with the one you love
hold hands and kiss

sit yourself down
unwind
under thick branches
among the roots
of a live oak

drop me a line
when you arrive

for Michael Russer
my friend