The Buddhist

She is not centered, but she finds her way.
Enlightened?
She lights a way for others,
so what matter?

I don't know my Buddhist,
but who do you know, really?
The stranger in your bed, clothed in intimacy,
disguised in familiar habits?

My Buddhist is a mystery.
Who doesn't love a mystery?

Turn to the one sharing your bed,
building your life.
Do you see what you will never see?
Do you see that wonderful mystery?
That hidden spark?

( whispers
ineffable
when you are not listening.)

My Buddhist is strange fire,
a wonderful missing puzzle.

and I am drawn.