his instantaneous grasp of his split-second exodus
from his combustible corpse shot him full of the joy
of being beyond the accident of time whether he was
standing on a snow-covered Missouri rooftop where
only he could see ten thousand Buddhas or sitting
zazen-style arms folded amidst the raging rush hour
NYC traffic thousands of fume-spewing vehicles or
fearful or joyful pedestrians speeding right through
his mirage-like image too indistinct to be perceived
by mortal eyes though a nodding blind man smiled
knowingly whispering his own name of a former life

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