"Our Pure Land is not only the fragrant lotuses and bunches of chrysanthemums, but is also the mud which nourishes the roots of the lotus and the manure which nourishes the chrysanthemums." –Hanh, from Touching the Earth









Little chance for Pure Land
from here behind the house windows

there it is, at the edges of city,
a little out there just off the highway–
    Get out, find a northern horse
             and pack the dog in back

Capital Springs, sodden marsh
        closed off, boardwalk
            carlots empty
the trailing of geese calls from a flood creek
a rise up out of the source of things
sun off the October grass
bright as moss
bright as the inside of stars

-----

Let go of the leash
What's behind you in the background
the sewage, the dump, asphalt living
the end of things, the beginning

Ahead through two inches of mud
we see only the black
fine velvet gloves of the geese heads
steadily swim along
the swollen creek which has no banks
they're not going anywhere

later they swoop down onto the city park
just north where you live

at the bench
under old friend oak

you know where it all came from