The empty cup

The blue light of twilight

Would not let me go back

To bed and chase dreams

The leaves of the bodhi tree

Stood still like a painting

Etched against the sky

That could not let go of the night

The stillness so filled the empty cup

That words refused to rush

To describe what was felt

The stillness turned into slow motion

Like high birds floating on air

Without any murmur or whisper

The light brightened reluctantly

As the silent red orb appeared

Through the tangle of still buildings

The cup emptied again and was filled

What moves not, is not in vain

What moves, moves, not in vain.