Perfection



I renounce perfection,
yet it returns
unbidden in the plum bud,

in dew crystal, moss softness
on bare toes, or my own face
distilled in your gaze.

Purity
is the inevitable consequence
of not seeking it.

Precisely when I know nothing
I become the omniscient wisdom
of my body.

Precisely when I want nothing
I inherit the incalculable wealth
of this moment.

Precisely when I am nothing
my emptiness engenders
the world.

Why not celebrate
the infinitesimal satori
of a hummingbird's wing?

Now let us have some tea,
green, smoky,
bitter and pure as light.