A Gift To Tepoztlan (for Herbert Wickenheiser)

I’ve made an impression 

in the space where I sit

outside the coffee house 

in Tepoztlan.

When I die they won’t 

remember me, but they will

remember my colorful socks,

the ties that I wore: “ Where is

that guy that used to sit there

with the striped socks?” they’ll

wonder. Perfectly out of place.

They’ll remember me as a thing

that used to be there.

Space has a memory, like water,

(the scientists say), don’t think it

doesn’t. Space has a memory,

otherwise, nobody would remember

their past lives, some do. They will

remember the colors there for a while,

the ones that saw me, after I’m gone.

Emptiness is the best gift a Buddhist

can give.