The arch never sleeps.
I had not hiked the path for weeks
when I came upon a secret
portal so low and so discreet
it must have been built for sprites or ferrets.
A drystack arch with pink voussoirs
no doubt by elfin craftsmen carved
in ages past, but this I know:
such fine art was not here a month ago.
I went down on my knees and then
lay on my belly like the snake
and shimmied through the gateless gate
shedding skins of virtue and skins of sin.
When I got to the other side,
nude with nothing to show or hide,
Something strange I realized:
my legs and feet (and tail) were left behind.
Older but without a wrinkle,
reawakened Rip Van Winkle
could not have been more shocked by this
bizarre but welcome metamorphosis.
For here the world glows bright bright bright,
the dream survives the darkest night
and haunts me now the whole day through
so real I would bet my life it is true.
Chuang-tzu was not the only dreamer
to blink at a butterfly in the mirror.
About the Author
Richard Collins has work in Clockhouse, Chiron Review, Rat’s Ass Review, Full Bleed, Philly Poetry Chapbook Review, Balestra, and most recently Tricycle: The Buddhist Review. His books include No Fear Zen (Hohm Press), In Search of the Hermaphrodite (Tough Poets, 2024), Stone Nest (Shanti Arts, 2025), and Cartoons for the Chaos: Poems 1975-2025 (Shanti Arts, 2026). He lives in Sewanee, Tennessee, where he directs Stone Nest Zen Dojo.
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