Monday, November 15, 2010

Fall Class Sutra -A poem

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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