Zen Dawn Poem by James Mullaney

This antique morning is

the consummation of history.
Shoguns arose, worlds warred,
and numberless processions passed
like thunder in a bonsai garden
to prepare for this -
my green sencha tea with wedges of lime.
How grave and staggering my debt to the world is!
Centering, I dip my fingers reverently
into a bamboo bucket
to douse my face with spring water.
I marvel that the sky shivering there
is a blue witness to the direst ordeals
of countless, faceless rascals and questers
disinterestedly being us.