Fall Class Sutra - 2009
Thus I have heard
in a warehouse
in a valley
along the edge of the Mississippi
just east of Ramsey Hill, Crocus Hill, Cathedral Hill
a story of elders silently rocking,
cards shuffled, and dealt with a smirk
aprons clung to, and then let go of
light rain, snow, heavy rain, wind
Van Gogh’s sunflowers
squirrels ruining rooftops
buses appearing and disappearing
a Buddhist standing in between Hawaiian church pews
vows made, vows broken, and vows made again
French lavender fields
“We’re not in Kansas anymore”
sliding zabutons, folding chairs
slightly scraping the surface of
our words, hearts beating
to the rhythm of lines
chanted into the center:
a vast field covered in discarded tethers
a million sheep bleating
under a setting sun.
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