Personal Profile
autobiographical monk
pigtails and freckles
playing in the rain
creating a liminal world
in the world
next to the way
gathering flowers
for soup and pine cones
for bread and
planning nothing
finding a way
present to the threshold
of water and communion
of darkness and breath
of loneliness and light
loss and the way
innocent eyes suddenly
seeing the boy
who lives in a
ramshackle home
across the way
noticing beautiful skin
a smooth cocoa
seeing all the colors
ground by heels
the way
not here
but in the disheveled
and disturbed and
distressed homes
finding no way
i drop the soup
and bread and
scream and flail
my fists at ghosts
in the way
pick up a rod
and a staff and
stride into the
blaze following
the way
note: this is an edited, updated version of an earlier poem.
autobiograph...