by Alice C. Linsley
Gaunt man in black monkish garb
beside his hermit house sits
in contemplation of the headstone moon
streaming light on his bearded face.
From gnarled fingers flow whispered prayers,
waterfall beads on a black cord.
At prayer often distracted, though not hearing impaired.
In sunlit stillness, he is a semi-transparent icon.
He watches high soaring hawks and lithe lizards,
Breathes pollen of black pine and salt of the sea.
He too is a visible sign of Heaven’s peace offering,
His soul a tinderbox for the Divine Fire.
1 comment:
evocative!
I can picture that monk
and can sense the spark he is encountering.
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