Well, I like trying to bring in Western sentimentalism because I grew up in England where musicals were mother's milk for

my theatrical family (of Lyric theatre provenance). So here's one in that spirit: Western Song of Ever-Present Haiku Days Long Gone Who was I back then In your garden? We, new-found comrades, Your wife Whom Louis Armstrong used to admire There, Back in the sixties together Although it was back in the early eighties Back in my youth You already middle-aged, mature, both of you With histories, Me with only a future All of us In fact With only the present As all of us always are. Time is all we have After all; Time is all there is After all, For without it There is no air for experience to breath, Breath by precious breath, Rustling moment Twinkling moment Honking moment Laughing moment Serious moment Surprising moment Touching moment Proud moment Dignified moment Compassionate moment Uplifting moment Clumsy moment. Moments one and moments all 1

Each haiku on golden Boulder summer eve Falling like soft spring raindrop On ever-falling cascade Of immanent now-drops Turned into then-drops Manifest as Zen-drops Mulched now into winter memories That the burgeoning spring sun -A quarter of a century later Calls forth into the bright light Of these imminent, immanent, eminent Latter But still Ever-youthful Days of unfolding moments. Haiku. We do. We are. We were. We then. We now. We ever. We all love each other so much, Dont we? The bomb of wakefulness Is as poignantly destructive As tragically moving As the bombs of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, The fire-bombs of Hamburg and Dresden, The slaughter of innocents throughout time. But for that time, We three, We noble three, Strangers and yet heart-knit Dharma Friends, Lobbed bombs of wakefulness Delighting the witnessing ever-joy-feeding birds Titillating and nourishing the rustling tender leave-whisperers Summoning the stars to our throne of wakeful comraderie Serenading the high-mountain moon Bringing tears of joy to roll down the cheeks of our 2

Primordially Cosmically All-engolloping Vajra Teacher Vajra Man Vajra Poet Vajra Timelord There in Boulder. In nineteen eighty four. There in Boulder In nineteen eighty four Haiku became immortal Witnessed only By birds in that backyard And the emergent stars Who to this day And forever more Are peopled with the twinkle Of that magical, momentary evening. http://www.ahs.org.uk/sanghaspace/forums/thread-view.asp? tid=550&posts=148#M11009