I go out into the garden
In the fresh morning air
But where has my zafu gone
I must have misplaced it
I feel the cooler breeze
Over my skin, under my linen shirt
I listen to the album Atomos
By Winged victory for the sullen
Are you searching for something
Which I do not give to you
Are you quietly saying to me
That we each have our own past lives
Are you leaning, as the plum tree leans
Towards the light, towards the sun
Towards the source of growth
Is it more growth which you crave
The concert hall in Los Angeles
Is not lost to me, although
The music that evening was not special
But I do have a CD to remind me
Of the visitation of angels, which was
A place, at that particular moment in time
Where I often lost myself, or where
I allowed my mind to wander in joy
My past is almost unapproachable now
I guess that is why I am still writing
That is why I sit out in the garden
To gather the splinters from a past life
