Buddha in Sunlight

Our old dog lies on the front porch in sunlight.
He moves as the sun moves, follows it
along the porch, rising slowly, never

going further than is necessary
to stay within the warm curve of worship.
He yawns, scratches, sheer minimalist,

conservation of energy. This morning
a rabbit hopped into the yard,
nibbling clover.

He lifted his head, eyed it for a moment,
then lowered his head,
closed his eyes.

This is what Buddha taught:
take no interest
in the arising of thought.

The sun moves off the porch;
he descends delicately the way
a nude descends from her bath, and

he finds a place in the grass.
The rabbit nibbles away,
undisturbed.

Let it be, Buddha said;
it will settle
itself.

Red Hawk