to speak of zen dryland gardens
and of beauty in imperfection.
robe black sandles white
head shaved and bright to match
his graciousness. he
with english broken. yet
answered our queries with
eloquence foreign to our
assumed mastery of a tongue
barely second to him. we listened
with hearts eager to soak up the
purity of his practice but
left the belly of the planetarium
knowing only more of our greater selves.
I am my creations, he said.
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