Poem: The Cure

Our great shared illness: 
Belief in the Supernatural. 
Koan becomes a riddle to be solved  
(with a prize, naturally, expected). 
Eucharist becomes a magic trick.
Resurrection becomes a miracle different from all the others. 

Enlightenment becomes something other than what’s there  
whenever I open my eyes, 
Or close them.

I was once cured of the illness 
When someone smiled at me with kindness 
And I smiled back. 
Though the cure lasted only as long as that moment.
Nice moment, though.