Buddha made of stone
meditating in the rain. . .


There are moments of startling clarity,
wherein the moment itself ceases
to exist
and all things
stand revealed
as one formerly concealed.

Radiant.
Eternal.
Now.

Then there are, more frequent by far,
those moments wherein I feel
not unlike a Buddha made of stone:

gray and opaque,
unable to get in from the rain.