I walked into another time
and met old decapitated Buddha Man.
His body was rock and his face was gray
but his smile was merciful.
I skipped a stone and jumped a breath
and thought I caught the chanting breeze.
Felt a flicker of the sun lick fluffy clouds,
as terns flitted flightily.
Curved corners of carved granite
inscribed his image delicately.
Can rock and philosophy be anymore immortal
than the virgin forest?
even on FarEast, root-infested, crumbling boulders.
And the Buddha Man levitates above all this
cross-legged on lotus flowers.
Even headless, he looks mundanely
at the world below.