The Sun Continues

An empty temple window

faces the harsh morning sun—

no monk remains there.

Dust dances in light

where prayers once gathered like mist

among cedar beams.

The mountains beyond

offer no explanations,

only distance.

The sun enters freely,

finding nothing to illuminate,

and nothing to hide.

Spider silk trembles

between weathered wooden frames;

the world passes through.

Yesterday's wisdom

lies scattered among shadows

that cannot remain.

The window does not

cling to darkness or brightness—

both are visitors.

A raven crosses

the burning field of morning

without leaving tracks.

Stone, silence, sunlight—

three names for the same teacher

speaking no words.

By noon even the

dust has surrendered itself

to the empty air.

The temple stands still.

The window stands open.

The sun continues.