Message in Ice

Sun rising Zen

paints calligraphy:

one primal stroke, bold gold,

blazing what koan of ice and fire?

On drift-ice rice paper,

in dazzling gold-leaf:

one

character of challenge

brush-stroked

by the sun!

In ice on rock I see: calligraphy,

this rune of meaning

pure and grand

given to me

to make me understand.

Now I have read this twice!

Now the signature in ice

(How much larger than myself!)

disappears. Green water

erases it from the rocky shelf.

Ice crumbles and parts and falls.

(Did I really see it at all?)

What message

have You given Your daughter?

___________________________

A glove of ice

separates from the hand of a tree

into my hand.

Aghast I understand, I see

the Crystal Goddess:

Her bold thighs--Dancer! Birther!

Her delicate arms, flute-bearing,

Her blank face:

She is all eyes of diamond!

Helmet, headdress, mask askew:

a bird’s head is part of Hers!

Overpowered by beauty,

my vision blurs...

I fling hot ice away from me!

It shatters back

into the glitter of everything.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018