The Fleeting World

The Diamond Sutra
Section XXXII (edited and revised by composer)

As a lamp misted with dew,
as stars at dawn,
froth and bubbles in a stream,
lightning flickering in the clouds,
phantoms and dreams,
so view the fleeting world.

Impermanence
By Gordon E. Abshire

No matter the shallow stream
I cannot cross.
The willows on the near bank
Restrain me.

My hearth is cold
I watched the last ember die
The ashes scatter in the draft
Wind rattles the shutters.

My humble cottage trembles
At the base of the mountain
Crows fly randomly
Against the slate sky.

I watch the boat in the river
The sun sets reluctantly
Summer’s flowers dry in the wind
Gray rocks await the frost.

Old Pilings pierce the shore
Small craft ride gently on the tide
The memory of other boats
Disturbs the water’s surface.

I shake the dust from small boxes
Searching for dried flowers
Plucked from summer’s bounty.
A lifetime’s unfamiliar tokens.

One small boat braves the wind
Cuts through rippling water
Determined and solitary.
Mist gathers in the distance.

Small feathers nestle in the grass.
A rough breeze disturbs them.
Yet the grass is still.
A falcon rides the wind.

I am alone in this empty room.
Dry branches whisper
The door blows open
My wounded heart is fed.

Cold sunset, colder river
Leaves tumble in the meadow
This season comes too soon
Night settles quickly, gently.