Praise to the emptiness that blanks out
existence; this place made from our love
of that emptiness! Yet somehow comes
emptiness, this existence goes.
Praise to that happening, over and over!

For years I pulled my own existence out
of emptiness. Then one swoop, one swing
of the arm, that work is over. Free of who I was,
free of presence, free of dangerous fear, hope,
free of mountainous wanting.

The here-and-now mountain is a tiny
piece of straw blown off into emptiness.
These words I am saying so much begin to lose
meaning: existence, emptiness, mountain,
straw. Words and what they try to say sweep
out the window, down the slant of the roof...