And Sister, our lives our made of water

entwined like root coil and ground swell

of the stuff that trees drink, wine of the world

swirled upward branched and twigged

in gladness of rising, ground to leaf and cloud.

The drop of rain that falls from leaf to grass

does not pass in secret, belongs to me:

is one of my shed tears for your pain.

And each leaf of each tree’s a prayer

that tells you every day I care, I care.

Judith Toy, Chan An Mon, True Door of Peace: I was asked to write this poem for a Sangha member whose sister has been diagnosed with MS.