Monastery
Wednesday vespers on this
spit of rocky
coastline, ample bottoms
scour a fresh
minute layer from pine
benches, the logs
milled on site, felled
above the lake by hand,
two man cross cut saw an
object lesson
in charity, the price of a
clean bite
in each heartfelt exchange;
silent now but
for the brook of murmured
prayer bubbling
over smooth stones twining
into rivers
that cascade into the deep
blue water
of devotion, my own of
late adrift
and rudderless, washed up
on this barren
archipelago where I walk
the beach
of flat round stones
offered sidearm with a
little wrist, content to
wait their return.
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