Tuesday, November 8, 2011

oak leaves

"My watch lies among the oak leaves. My tee shirt hangs on the barbed wire fence, and the wind sings in the bare wood."--Thomas Merton, November, 1958.


for Thomas

watches stay at home, when pressing on
to find the sterling being, residing in the one

silken blouses, pants that need extra care
are left by the riverside, when immersion

finds one needing less, to float
more easily; grace descends

the point of entry, never leaving
light rises at the thought of nothing

breathing wonder wakes the forest
squirrels sent scurrying

shakti meets with shiva
at the river of realization

rocking out the river
dreams peal easily off the micaed granite

sitting upon flat blue river stone
oak leaves fall on their own

travel both up stream
and down to mountain's source

magic paints peppermint sticks rubbing
the cooling effervescence melding

with the sharp contrasts shown in light:
knowing who to carry and who to leave,

knowing when to tarry and when to travel
we bid fair adieu to a life always leaving,

in order to embrace a life looming

as high as a starling sings
and as long as a oak tree bears leaves

Kate Lamberg
11/8/11

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