Saturday, April 11, 2015

Bare All

At the foot of my bed hangs
a painting of a bald monk, 
bearded and heavily robed.

The monk does not move yet moves 
me to notice the fat staff 
resting on his right shoulder,
steadied by his right-hand grasp.

The still monk holds the staff still,
disturbing nothing at all
yet knowing its good use as 
a weapon, were need to rise.

The monk directs his gaze as
two dragonflies swim mid-air
surrounding the staff’s forward,
one above, other beneath.

Now mirrored in the framed glass 
of the sumi-e painting:
the bare face, a bare poet.

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