the strong summer sun is
i am able to do
thing at a time,
like the monk writing his book,
using his letters carefully,
until his alphabet
an echo escapes from the canyon,
is it wild horses?
scattering in the valley.
or stars in a deep dark heaven.
i will follow the track,
into a shade of a tranquil hush.
the speech of trees,
like leaves slipping
from the branch.
i step into this sound of song,
without woodwinds, percussion or brass.
manifested in the flesh and spirit,
my bones pass through the mill,
and quenches the thirst of moirae.
my nervousness is erased like sin.
i am molded by a potter’s hand,
second thoughts are not erased,
yet i will not swim in the brine.
i desire to eat another feast,
my disguise conveniently revealing,
the fanatic religion i devour.
i will stumble upon,
many more stones.