Metaphysical spring rumination

Lying awake in the greening dark right before a March sunrise,
My blood hums quietly with a thousand desires,
Gentler than before, but still pluripotent, evasive of names and taxonomy,

I believe the Buddhists were wrong about this World of Desire,
It's worth the suffering--and the satisfactions--and
Had there been no samsara,
Nirvana would  have had to invent it.
Because it did.

Perhaps I do  not know what I am saying,
But why should I care?

Now I'm up and around and

There's that "rosy-fingered dawn" (an orange rose in this case)
   on one side,
That paling moon on the other.

R.

 
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