Never Misplaced

A black cat sleeps

on the worn steps

of the temple.

Scrolls gather dust inside—

questions layered

upon questions.

No paw has turned them.

The monk reads of stillness,

of freedom from thought,

of the end of seeking.

The cat yawns—

unburdened

by arrival or departure.

Moonlight settles

equally on fur and stone.

No difference

is made of it.

The bell waits

to be struck—

the cat does not wait

to hear it.

What the monk studies,

the cat does not hold.

What the cat is,

no page can keep.

In the quiet,

one searches for peace—

the other

never misplaced it.