A gentle spring evening arrives
airily, unclouded by worldly dust.
Three times the bell tolls echoes like a wave.
We see heaven upside down in sad puddles.
Love’s vast sea cannot be emptied.
And springs of grace flow easily everywhere.
Where is nirvana?
Nirvana is here, nine times out of ten.
♦
From Passing through a Gate: Poems, Essays, and Translations by John Balaban © 2024, used by permission of Copper Canyon Press
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