View from the Teahouse

By Brother Minh An

Sometimes I look at the sky
like it's a table,
solid and limited and knowable.

But on this lazy afternoon
I closed my eyes
and saw myself as space.

When I looked up again
I could no longer know
what it was I was looking at.

I could only intuit the vast blue 
emptiness, remembering that certainty
is a kind of suffering.

Then, when I looked back at the table,
it was strange to me, and enormous,
and full of sky.

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