Easter Sunday

Four youths pass me chattering freely.

Other strangers greet me.

A man with one arm passes, a sock over his stump.

Did Christ rise from the dead?

Will the moon mission burn up on re entry?

So many questions linger through time, carried

along by myths, theories and speculation.

The Zen Master knows better than to speak.

“Don’t ask me about it, I know nothing about it.

Nobody else knew either, so I went on in a fog

thinking that nothing had happened.” Neruda

“Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, man gotta

sit and wonder why, why, why.”

“Nothing happens.” Sixteenth Karmapa

All I know is what I see.

Many things go on elsewhere, but I’m not there.

Opinions flood the internet, some intelligent,

some meant to confuse.

It’s hard to tell the players without a program.

Maybe we should forget about the whole thing.

A fresh start, square one, is where we always begin,

the moment we awaken before we’re overwhelmed 

by the flood of our lives.

“Oh oh, there’s so much to do, so much to know.”

In so much knowing we just loose ourselves.

This coffee, cigarettes, people walking to and fro

is all I know there is.

If you lived here, you’d be home by now.