The space when no one else is here
Bob Marley is humming an acoustic medley on my stereo
“Searching the hard darn day for a woman to find my mind
Someone told me I could find her here”
In the whispering walls of banal Saturday
Nowhere to go but inside the call of an internal
Every day I see my way all the more monk-like
Peace in a divergent concept of time
I am trying to be as in touch with stone as my flesh will
allow
The harsh is washed, the calcification is a misunderstanding
Surviving the winter is a fire pit of cinders ascending
“I’ll push the wood, blaze the fire. Satisfy your heart’s desire.”
The notes ride in incomplete sentences singeing on
temperance
The mortar slips into a chasm of corners looking for
happiness
Patience is a glint splayed on a sun beam, no hurt in vain
To the train’s horn blow repeating
“If you don’t go looking for happiness, I am a hurting
inside.”
The lever of ambition and letting go, the flow of time is a
clenched hand
When exposed bone outside the self, patience in the love
held
For one’s own possibility, to be by definition loveable
Capable of taking in, man must form a basin of containment
For that which he wishes to offer to pose an arrangement
Of reciprocation the fears the compassion the last of the
entanglements
Patience roots like rosebud, monk-like in the throes of time
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