Might I find a Buddha nature
In the chaos is there calm
Might I grind a simple taster
In the noise perhaps to find a soothing balm
All the winds then to believe
Surging down through the trees
With the bending and the bowing
Is the truth of it a dangerous breed
That the bright light on the fence line
Is a totem from above
Gifted by the grey-going-to-black clouds
On what mirage is that word called love
It never went beyond the superficial
It did not cling to your deep inside
The purpose was the purpose only
To provide escape, to stage the stride
So, just as before or after midnight
With the light of half-offered hope
Step by step, both were taken
To the well, there to carefully elope
