The paper door
you let flow on your thumb
doesn't shelter from the wind
it encloses its breath.
Originally posted in Italian on February 3, 2008 at 20:12
Mu
Two messy eyebrows
one little childhood scar.
The skyline on the sand
and four drops of green tea.
So one writes blank.
Friday, April 11, 2008
The paper door
Labels:
apocryphal zen,
more zen poetry
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