A monk’s heart is a mobile home
Clouds are mostly gossip, for monks
In meditation, monks train to be naked
Monks on one leg balance into red breeze
They watch animals vanish into colors
Then gather morning’s dew into bell jars
If there is a world shared, let it be ours, they chant
Monks scribble their names onto each tombstone
A monk’s bonfire is mostly I.D. papers
A monk’s laughter is wind collapsing
through our fingers
from Poetry Northwest WEBMore by Kevin Phan from the library
Copyright © Kevin Phan
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.