The surface of the lake is not so still.
A sailboat and its pilot catch
the wind.
They glide across the surface
with no effort.
The question of what moves the
boat arises.
The wind says, ‘It is I who
does this work.’
The sail replies, ‘Without me,
you are worthless.’
In truth, it is the mind which
moves the boat,
an answer which should need no
explanation.
If sit here feeling Zen, but
somewhat smug.
‘But what is it that moves the
mind?’ says Myles.
The poem takes an unexpected
turn.
If you have sons, be grateful
when they’re wise.
