Li Po Walks Lightly in His Garden
By Peter Bethanis
A long winter.
A bird outside a window.
The armies have passed
like insects over an orange peel.
The last stick of wood
used a month ago,
Li Po heats his tea,
refuses desire,
even a kiss
if it were offered.
Li Po knows the oneness of the universe,
at the center
a deep suffering,
so he drinks his tea,
detached as a laugh,
admires the bird
then walks lightly
in what’s left of his garden.
Peace poetry awards and contests 2003
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