Park Bench

The sun falls through the trees
onto the park bench.
It explodes into dazzling light.
It burns in the brilliant flame of the sun
and becomes the sun.
And the sun becomes the bench,
a place for the weary, a place
of rest for those who seek
clarity and a reprieve
from the heat of living or the shade
of their dismay.

This is the way it is:
we want what we don't have
and we have what we don't want.
The root of our suffering.

The bench is the witness.
The bench does not judge.
It holds us as it holds its own heart;
the heart wood at its center,
holding firm.
The bench witnesses our desires
and asks for nothing in return.
The bench is the witness.