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Gates Open

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.

Published in Kevin Phan Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.