Bruised Mind

Be empty of wanton thoughts

Of lifting the rusty anchor

Buried in mud.

Instead notice how the morning fog

Lifts like eye lids, as the sun

Peaks behind the hills.

Notice how pine needles tremble

As the jewels drop into

The stream below.

Notice how a chip monk freezes

Standing on hind legs,

And notice how the sun climbs

The arc across the heaven,

As Apollo drives the fiery

Carriage to the noon marriage.


Year of the Rat