The monk in whom there is nothing born of desire
that would keep him bound to becoming,
sloughs off the near shore and far -
as a snake, its decrepit old skin.¹

XXXII

Tuco found resonance
in the article he was reading,
echoes of Arlu.
"The old masters placed the site of ethics within the inward,
instantaneous and entire grasping of circumstances,
a living dharma not divisible into categories
of right
and wrong.
We can know things most directly
when we lay no claim to knowing anything at all.

The Zen Buddhist does not ask what's right and wrong
but rather,
'What am I to do at this moment?'
She has no opinion to put forth.
She has learned not to acquire answers,
and so
holds her question open
wherever she goes."²

Tuco checked the byline again.
One never knows
what Alru might be up to
and not letting on about.
One does not acquire answers
asking Arlu about things.

One hears
a sutra. And comes to know
"The inner sky has its own sun and moon."³

Tuco turns toward the shade.
The sun warming this summer morning.
The flowers begin to struggle
toward the last fruit
before the desert dries their petals
to dust.

The season becomes.
Tuco becomes a new summer Tuco
between the shores - near and far.