Breathe.

I know what Buddha sought
under his tree,
just sitting there -
silent -
while the unenlightened
watched him
breathe.

His world was
too small
for the size of
his soul.
Walls fit a
lotus-blossom heart
poorly.

He wandered without,
trail by path,
street by road,
one step by thousand miles
until he knew.
No road led
where he wished
to go.

Each destination held
nothing
but another journey,
another voyage,
one more search
with nothing for company but
his own infinity.

He spied a tree
atop a hill,
a lone dark spire
mourning the sunset
with her leafy tears.
He saw peace
in her contented roots;
he paused to watch her breathe.

Inspiration lighting his eyes,
he made roots of his legs,
branches of his hands,
bark of his skin.
He took one step
on the thousand miles
within.

I know what Buddha sought
under that tree,
just sitting there
silently
while the unenlightened
watched him learn to
breathe.