On remembering the Karmapa

I know we have but a little time
I love to watch you walk in
from the field, bent to some task
the smell of russian olive blossoms
collected in a circle of breeze
contented sounds of beautiful
feeding birds, unseen, hidden
in lush foliage that towers
over the house
gray-green and muted yellow

there is nothing left to do
but to observe the deep purples
and the blues, the whites
of spring flowers uplifted
and here and there a red
or yellow against green foliage
the russet of the stucco wall
behind the flower beds

a wind comes up as
the sad and peaceful day declines
sunlight obliquely on the wall
illuminates its texture, the shadow
of a flower stem waving in harmony
the sounds of traffic
the motor of a bumblebee
browsing among the upright
purple stems

every thing
is as it is
there's no commanding it
no changing it
in tune and yet so far beyond
a restless heart that casts about
and finds no boundaries

still in my infancy
still learning
that this is where you live
at all times
this is what you breathe
with every breath
knowing I will give my life
to know this, is enough
in spite of all my failures
I will continue
knowing that we have
so little time

-Tom Edwards