river rock

my pockets are filled with stones

i have found in the brokenstraw.

in my hair i wear the feathers of a

crow. leaves falling from the trees

make a bed to rest my bones. i offer

god the poverty of my spirit, buddha

satisfies my need for nothing. i have

no stash to feed my belly. there are

no consequences of my past, and i

forgive the trespasses of others. the

stars have not revealed the dark side

of the moon to me. i have no quarrel

with black and white, or the day and

the night. i prefer the delicate to the

unyielding but winter has its place.

every question owns the answer. the

second coming does not excite me

any more than the first or the third.

the road map of my journey is to the

allegheny to gather more stones and

sing my new verse to a red sun that

takes its place behind the horizon

twice a day.

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