I look through the big windows at the airport again
Far from home in 2014, disconnected and young
In my bag, a book of zen poems that I read and re-read
They all say: “don’t worry
Dreamed dust is always blowing
All this is a veil”

The veil of youth is lifting in me constantly
Far from home again while everything is born by my eye
Only now and this airport window and whatever I see
The dissolving youth of things is shown as emptiness
Dressed up as spring

All million colors and everyone I’ve known
Passing through a mind and it’s this same mind
That was born

Wild and empty, wailing in electric lights since birth
Far from home at last, and I’m still trying to let the spring emerge
From beneath every thought unknown and vast
But my youth and self assurance fill the sky
“There’s no moon,” my young mind thinks
“In a totally black night sky”
But there is a moon