It's cold today,
even the Buddha statues are wearing knit red caps.
The gardens are welcoming,
the signs not so much:
NO GRAFITTI, NO CARVE,
OFF LIMITS, OFF LIMITS.
Temples grow old without getting any older;
unlike me.
Carol strolls among giant bamboo,
dusty green, 6-inch diameter trunks,
40 feet high.
I sit and write.
The bamboo pass through me, my pen,
are distilled into ink.
Life: we enter, we exit,
in the middle are bamboo,
and maybe a few people.
A century from now,
I will be gone, the people will be gone,
the temple will remain,
and it will be someone else's job
to distill the bamboo.
Hōkokuji, Kamakura 2023/12/3
Energy and Time 