halfway through my amazement
about your teachings and silence
I start moving again
bumbling and staggering
through a course of self-made soups.
determined not to lose it
not to miss or misplace
I clutch at the rosary
day and night, day and night
whisper for the iron heart
to be warm and malleable.
this time round I won’t
touch the moon reflected
in the dewdrops
I won’t let the lake
drown anybody before me
I will hold in highest regard,
every pore on the bricks
moss and all, uneven soil,
the temple bell, centuries,
sacred texts, echoes of recitation
vibrating in the noisy towns
to drop all sense of sense
turn the pepper crusher in hand
doing what is meant to be done
wonder about the petals of lotus
how they open, and pray.
Aanand