Anna opens the front door
down in the hall,
and the draft lifts the blanket
I've hung over the bedroom window upstairs,
left slightly ajar for the summer,
and light flashes
from the open day
as the blanket billows,
suddenly come alive,
and the little breath of wind
gently caresses
with a hint of meadow & forest

A rooster crows in the distance,
down in the chicken yard
beyond the garden

The body lies
at its outermost limit, reasonably enough,
on its way toward seventy-eight,
though still healthy,
strong & well trained

Time hums;
bumblebee brahmins
populate my periphery,
feeding on time

Space exhales,
unceasingly,
never inhales

Space
is the exhalation
of the cosmos

Life is an interference
in existence –
a ripple
on the Ocean of Rigpa

Anna is an apparition
from Kuan Yin,
whom I've been granted
permission to imagine,
by grace,
pure grace