SO MUCH FARRAGO
Querulous the jumble shop wherein
everyone wants to slide. Best friends
forever, but put that aside. Now is
Winter, as the ice-skaters glide.
-
I can do a twirl - in my mind - and
a nice spin on the glass. Ice-like-glass,
I mean to say. And then a hawk soars
down and alights on the ground, but
there's nothing to eat, nor to be found.
-
A thin-glass silence settles the air where
the monks are out now, skating too. They
light a fire on the edge of the ice and
huddle between skatings for warmth.
Then it's back to their cloister for
prayer and meditation once more.
(I wish I was among them, but,
really, what for)?
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