Quietly the evening falls,
through leafy trees
coolly a breeze blows,
the peaceful night comes in high glees.
A deep fullness hovers all around
one guess is descending from other worlds;
the moon is a buoy, yellow and round,
to perfect stillness in the firmaments.
Memories settle their own slime,
the pot-bellied jug full and wise:
it shall not be another Spring-time,
when accomplished is the holy life.
Chuang Yen Monastery, Carmel, NY, August 2005
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