Slowly tracing the
Mandala of Forest Life
Feeling the thorns, branches,
Fur and slime of its wild surface
While singing gratitude for berries,
Mouthing sutras for salmon,
Hymns to hemlock,
Prayers for penstemon
And a host of such rustic rosaries
Its ochre hues and dappled greens
Are soft against my eyes
Bearing concentric circles of
Light and Dark
Beauty and Decay
A fish carcass rots in the grass
While a fresh lily opens
It's pale petals
Moss cushions my every step
Along this living contemplation maze
Weaving between ancient spruces
The foundation, the pattern, truth
Encrusted in sap
The bones of each creature
Sinking deeper into
The forest floor
Detritus:
The ink of the Mandala
