What does wisdom look like to you?

Does it look like Socrates?
Does it look like a monk sitting on a rock?
Does it look like a yoga teacher?
Does it look like meditation?
Does it look like martial arts?
Does it look like music?

But wisdom is found only in the waters,
keeper of the memories of what is hidden,
harbinger of what was and is to be:
Drink, O seeker of pleasure, drink!
You could have mastered the entire world,
you could have created gardens
out of wastelands.

Instead, you fell to the dull earth,
and allowed the sun to scorch your skin,
as photographs fade to dull sunsets,
and the water recedes into the horizon,
over the rim of all the thirsty things,

And now,
not even Time can keep up with the waves,
and your body ceases the steps of its reaching,
persuading itself to settle without protest
inside a place worthy of its withering,
until the great waters embrace you,
your breath arriving back to its source,
Infinite blue sky,
joy.

At least you are home, you whisper,
even though she plays with flowers in the graveyard,
like poets mesmerized by a child’s glitter and gold,
to please the worms and the rain and the sun,
all the things and people you never understood,
until the waters through you found.

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