Sweet Sir,
master of the minimal,
to meet upon a leaf,
make tea from dew,
talk for days -- you talking,
me listening finally --
not as though you were still teaching,
but mere
ly life
upon a leaf
beneath a stone:
a moldy earth that holds it all,
heals it all --
I, as pilgrim,
prepared for little --
circling that pale stone,
you, a part of the white air,
the wormy earth,
giving,
explaining over tea
the humdrum
necessary existence -- the sufficiency --
the becoming --
life
upon a yellow leaf
beneath a white stone.
© Bill Boydstun
No comments:
Post a Comment