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i saw someone meditating in the steam room

at the princeton y last night. making the om

sound. trying so hard to be so so so so so so

enlightened so fast so easy simply by

coloring inside the ghosts of teacher’s lines.

If only this would turn off those popcorning

synapses. Reveal the hidden key of zen

hidden so easily under a front door floormat.

and that’s the moment i smiled inside

the fog. enlightenment is so silly. and much

easier. but only after sixty years of trying

am I silly enough to see the joke’s on me

with that ageless punchline: you can’t get any

where else but the present tense. and only  

when you stop really stop trying. and I guess

I don’t even know what I know anymore: perfect.