O Shariputra, all dharmas are marked like footprints in sand washed from shore,
O Shariputra, on the shoreline clusters of pine, bristling needles mark the empty sky
O Shariputra, pale green lichen, eons old, clinging to tree bark eating the untilled air
O Shariputra, foliate ferns spring from rock sides, tough stone flowering before our eyes
O Shariputra, we stand small by lake and sky and orange moon rising over far horizon
O Shariputra, love this world, water converging to shore again again empty never the same.
-- Warren Lang, 2012
