The tree stands before him,
goliath and beautiful and majestic.
Light filters through the smooth edged leaves,
and the two toned bark glistens with the sweat
of the morning dew.
He is Buddha,
he is all powerful, omniscient,
and yet he stands before the tree,
only gratitude pouring from his consciousness,
only gratitude for this unmoving, unthinking being.
Seven days and seven nights pass,
and the man does not move his eyes.
He will not avert his gaze,
he cannot avert his gaze,
his mind is too full of gratitude.
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