Farewell

After the weather clears,
the hospital walls have new color;
I've come to see you off,
mother.

We talk as you sweep coffee grounds
off the table with your hand;
amid the sounds of crickets on TV,
we're unwilling to part.

A lone shadow
walks atop a rain puddle;
someone is unlocking
a bicycle from a tree.

In the end, we'll meet again
on the phone over the ocean;
I'll be at your ear
but you'll be miles away.


by jerry gordon
after Chia Tao's Farewell to Monk Wu-K'o