WATER PIERCING STONE

To become a water bead, a cold gust

rushing down an empty road, to become

a wanderer among statues,

trailing streams of thin blue light.

To become a sound adrift in wind,

to gather weight into a stone,

to become grey hair,

to treasure an unfinished book,

to burn in one’s eye

like a temple lamp

lit for a thousand years.

To become a solitary castle,

and in the depth of a thicket

make entrance.

To become truth’s witness,

a long and hidden path.

To become a song for the deaf,

chanting to dark night,

hammering the chain binding up the face.

To become the sail quietly filling,

to unload the wings

and be a prowling light.

Who can recognize

what just flashed by?