The Heart

The heart is a sail with no boat,
it is the sweet spring wind in the trees,
but only when found accidentally.

Here is the heart, free as a wren.
If you want to catch fish, get a net,
if you want to find paradise,
nail your complaints on the door.

But if you want to know the heart,
you must lift off the surface of the lake,
sense without wanting,
let hunger rise and rain,
and live in supplication of your seasons.