Milarepa

Cold grey cave,
Ice on moss.
The raven haired yogi
Sashed in red,
Immobile.
Shadowland in the walls.

Now buzzards glide over treetops,
Through empty skies.
Deer descend to the stream,
At low light.

But high in the cave,
Motionless.
Ice on rock, makes for treacherous climbing,
He goes without ropes through the void.

Later, as morning approaches,
Snow on grass stalk melts.
Blackbird song,
Enlightenment dawning.

Kenneth Mullen

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