Bodhidharma's hands are wrinkled and leathery, but the wrinkles reveal a wiry strength to them. He holds them calm and motionless on the soft fabric of his robe, curved in a mudra I do not recognize. It reminds me of a crescent moon floating in the sky like an island off of Borneo. I want to ask him if his mudra tells us where the Yin and Yang swam off to. He turns to me and says, "we live in the moment, not in the words."
This was for the poetry exercise "Five Easy Pieces" from The Practice of Poetry