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.