POETRY

Hit Buddha

I hit Buddha with a snowball
on my very third try just now.
first was long,
second pulled right.
I centered, followed the imaginary line
my mind drew from my eyes to his heart,
allowed my detached body
to easily flow and throw
along that line,
the movement divine,
snow perfect wet and firm
sun warm, Buddha struck.

He accompanied me from the West
this fall. He sat through the night
and the snow awaiting that ball
stoic silence tells me
I get more chances.
Get throwing
though your hand is cold
and you might miss. I do.

m. landers 02/03