I’m not sure
What sort of patience or stamina
Was needed to pile up the white
From the first to the thousandth layer
From clear to that initial layer of white
From that first layer of white to the thousandth
Did perhaps countless colors
Contaminate that most easily injured white
Like waves of passion settling into still and quiet waters
Like a child novice seasoned into an old monk in deep
meditation
Desire and passion.
Struggle and compromise
Shake and sway in countless ways
Leg after leg of that arduous journey
Today
My quiet, fixed position is here
Quietly putting forth a small white blossom
Without saying a word
Without saying a word