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"All Is Present," For Pos Moua

All Is Present
For Pos Moua

Let us celebrate
            the gardener and his blooms
                        the blushing, the spiked, those spawning
young, let us celebrate
            the first tree, axis mundi
no borders, ever-turning
leaves, boughs craning towards,
away from, vining around center—
                        the weight of the world in two cupped palms.
Let us celebrate the gardener
immortal garden incarnate
boulder, soil, soul, light,
jeweled buds, mystic roots
            bless the earth, drink rain
                        bind carbon into sweetness.  
Mythical companions,
Kunlun Mountain
domes of jasper and jade
deaths and births, secrets and
freedom, Peach Blossom Village,
fruits of fire.
 At the Jade Pool,
fish dance and nip,
flirt with silver bells.
Sunlit waves crash in hidden caverns.
             A single boat paused against
embroidered, ten-colored horizon.
Tao Yuanming deemed it impossible
to find the way back,
rediscover those fragrant woods.
Yet, remembering, we celebrate
            the gardener, father,
teacher, fisherman
his plow, pen, love, line
bring light to
                        West Paradise
dark shadows stretched long
            summer to perpetual summer.
For there is no past,
no future—time is, in spite of history,
            not linear—all is present,
present, present,
eternity right here, this moment.
Eight, ten,
immortals—fear not
for in one smile, all
shall bloom.   


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Trypanophobia: a fear of injections

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