There is no woman
lying upon the world
just over that hill
or spread out by the river,
waiting for me.
There is no dakini
in the sunlight by the
waterfall, offering me
fruit from her basket
and taking me
between the rocks.
No—in fact, there is
all of that! But she
is not here to feed my
ancient hunger. She is
not here to fulfill
the fantasy of my mind’s
longing. She is not
here to answer the
addictive expectation
that lines my bones
and directs my walking.
She is here only
to play her own songs
of appearance and
disappearance, to fulfill
her own dreams of
to be feasted,
celebrated, and praised
by one who has
grown wise in his loving.