From an inch above ground he saw me
Thrashing and writhing, crying
Caring
Caring
Perhaps he is a Zen master in his ignorance
Or perhaps this salamander is a family man
and goes back to his wife and children every night
and is unmoved by all else
I do not know his stillness
His little legs moving like
walking mantras
“I will get there
One step at a time I will get there”
In considering the delicate creature
I forgot my anger and attachments
and the past sunk deeper into
my bones and my cortexes and my shoulders
And it became wisdom, not rage
And I left this little Salamander
Though he did not leave me
I would have thanked him
But I cannot speak so slowly and meaningfully
as his little tongue