The Innisfree Poetry Journal www.innisfreepoetry.org by Jesse Morales
Meditation
With autumn’s pale of burnished light
Slanting through the oaks’ Releasement of leaves, I walk In noble silence. Until this series Of steps, I did not know the term. Until meeting among holy graves The empty dark, I did not know I was suffering. My art — That painted harlequin of poise, Choreograph, hide, and re-position — Melds into the singing bowl’s Rich yet modest tones. Tonight, The world is filled with souls. And on this night, as in Auden, “Certainty, fidelity On the stroke of midnight pass Like vibrations of a bell . . . .” For all the sable shades of clinging Drop into other hells, and I Stand light on the friendly earth — Empty — lacking nothing. And yet, continuous breath In and out, rise and release, Flows through other silent walkers And through the clouds to me. I know that I know nothing As our crowd of souls in foot-traffic Climbs the cemetery hill. We, alive, still carry Unmet dreams of those Who will never walk again. How right that overhead the moon, That cold canvas, invites Contemplation of the endless circle, The reflection of light from light, The indestructible nature of matter And its dependent arisings. What is being — but the peal of a bell Dancing with leaves in the evening, In a cool breath of wind? What is a soul — but shorthand For gravitation’s faithful pull Of falling things to a single ground? Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication |