Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Monks mood


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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