smudge of smoke where the chimney pokes the sky
upstairs, in the dark hours, a soft light;

yardbroom outside the door
sandals, just inside;

rug slightly skewed on the floor
beside it, dented, a pillow;

image on a small table, bronze, a Buddha
a begonia sprawling beside it;

fragrances: musks, sandalwood
plain white walls;

stubbly head, broken nose
scar on the left thumb;

phrases such as: ‘noetic field’
‘a resonant intent’;

behind them, the usual flagrant cosmology
surfs the flows of silence.

There appears to be no centre
the boundaries keep shifting –

I rest my case.

From: Travels in the Middle Land, Dhamma Moon, 2013.

Posted: Tue 17 Nov, 2009