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she’s poised for another departure,
leaving the mountain and the cottage called Bliss

a woman without a past or a future,
a woman who is no woman or thing
who knows herself as ordinary alertness-in-action

ears held high like the hare grazing
the dewy meadow outside the window,
she notices the clues and the cues arising

and she follows each sensation
the way a dog traces a scent, to its source
in this dimensionless emptiness

to its source – which cannot be ripped
apart from its appearance:
this bright basic home-brand
no-frills awareness

~