Buddha’s Rhetoric


words cannot be found
on the table, on a shelf
spoken they disappear
as exhaled breath
and yet
word becomes flesh
it has been said
and so it must follow
word becomes giraffes
and beer bottles

bombs
guns

Mozart
wind chimes
and muddy boots

the word, invisible
birthed
floating behind the eyes
snapping synapses
in the folds on the brain
pulled and pushed
released
as sound
heard but not seen
to become a warrior or peacemaker
solid with its formless chosen meaning
word become solid

as ash, as air.