To write a poem is to study oneself.
To strip away all but the sinews,
and then the sinews.
A jawbone stuck out of the dirt—
young fox with still-perfect teeth.
I keep in on my desk.
Everything is made of mystery.
And then it all disappears.
Start your day with a fresh perspective
Thank you for subscribing to Tricycle! As a nonprofit, we depend on readers like you to keep Buddhist teachings and practices widely available.