Powerless to gaze directly,
for his glory leaves me blind,
my hand quivers, spilling wine.
A child am I, fearing light.
He laughs in simple Buddha smiles
and speaks to me of love.
The wine, neglected, wets his palm
as he lends its strength to mine.
With rash but reverential nerve,
my shoulders braced in fear,
I peer into this sun, and balk!
My humble nature is reflected there.
Our Humble Natures
