ORDINATION
Some very old poem I dug up. Perhaps it is fifteen, even twenty years old. It reminds me of the Magic Woods behind Alex's house where the Zen monk sat happily woven from a tapestry of frozen branches and shone upon by a one Full Moon.
August 16th, 2024
The choir of the saints is heartless.
They’ve parried happiness a lifetime,
seeking the old earth,
the marsh of the meek—
where earnest suffering is woven with revelation
and chaste with bottomless bliss.
