From my bed I thought to think
And stared anxiously at a single leaf
“Your thoughts aren’t yours or fussing.”
Did this thought stem from the tree?
“Yes,” from silence beyond the mind
“I am,” said the wind blown leaf
“From the Vine is born the branch…
And Everything from One dying seed.”
“Are you the poet or the poem?
The musician or melody?
The author, the paper and the ink?
Can one leaf create the breeze?”
In silence my mind was overcome
And all labels lost identity
Perception freed from separateness
Because the breeze reveals the leaf.