πολυφλοίσβοιος

wet leaves in the wind
all heavy from rain

          were you here 
          you’d hear the little insects 
          chirping out the Heart Sutra: 
               they say nothing
               to attain nor– 
                    or not nothing,
                    not really.

I am foiled. 
     Luna hidden
          neath clouds and

               the bright gray firmament 
               reflects back so much light;

a bit of wine for the offering 
          nevertheless. 
     I have been here before.