The Monk and the Scorpion

His mother was young and beautiful,
and a scorpio and when he came of age,
this played a little on his heart and mind.

One of the girls he met was the same way,
and the music that they made
sounded like the old story:

Two monks fishing at the river's edge
notice a scorpion drowning. The older
of the two immediately scoops it up and
sets it on the bank. The scorpion stings
the monk, who goes back to his fishing rod
until again the scorpion falls in, and again
the monk saves the scorpion, and again
the scorpion stings the monk.

"Why," the younger asks, "do you continue
to save the scorpion when its nature is to sting?"

"Because," the elder answers,
"my nature is to save it."

I spread my love so thin,
trying to cover you.
Cursed to that nature,
but blessed,
for my love
is not a thing tied.
My heart is eternal.
And yours.
Fragments of the sun and moon.

Unbreakable, bouncy,
Indian rubber balls.

You can't imagine the zen I got,
when I realized my love was my own,
yet didn't belong to me.