Every day, priests minutely examine the Dharma
and endlessly chant complicated sutras.
Before doing that, though, they should learn
how to read the love letters sent by the wind and rain,
the snow and moon.

Ikkyu (1394-1481)¹

XLVI

Tuco turned toward the moon as the wind picked up snow
and threw it across the fire.
Rain dances across the moon face.

He considered the letters not recieved from Arlu.
A puzzle drifts though the moon light.

No chant will bring luck
or fortune.
The Dharma is not bought that way.

Sutras hint themselves in the wind.
Snow seems to melt into puddles
before the fire light.
Moon light reveals the deception.

Tuco considers his hubris
and lack of writing letters himself.

Perhaps
it is time
to
turn
toward the moon
and write
by its light
what he knows
in his heart.

A sutra
settles
quiet
on
his
tongue.

He lifts
paper
to it.

The rain sings
once more.