Poem: The Question

Fleeing solitudeon the melting tar road, I turned to words, and was invited into silence. Right away, oaks cooled the cross-breezes and leaves chanted of a vast tenderness. The view down the valley was nothing special, it wouldn't stop traffic, but I could not move, and yielded, and sank. The answer was here. "Field, haystack, forest, hedge, why are you so beautiful? Why do you break my heart?" Our last walk here, is it too precious for words? "Because you are here." "Because you stopped." "Because you saw me." "Because you asked."

by Caleb Cushing (written about an experience he had on the last lazy day of the Eyes of the Buddha Retreat in 2000)

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