The ancient adepts of the Way,
how subtly engaged,
how cryptically perceptive.

Yet fragments of their wisdom linger:
Alert, as if treading over icy streams.
Cautious, as if threatened by neighbors. Considerate, like a welcome guest.
Fluid, like melting ice.
Simple, like an unhewn block.
Open, like a valley.
Tumbling, like turbulent waters.

Who finds quiescence while turbulence settles?
Who is astir before the moment is ripe?

Who does not want fulfillness
may be incomplete and threadbare.

© Douglas Allchin 2002