the poetry zendo: sitting in silence

December cold, and the night dew becomes mist, and then, in the most silent hour, becomes a soft rain. I am up late, putting my life into words that no one will read. What use is this world of men? I shiver violently from the cold, even deep within this thick, soft robe.

I felt like writing a letter.

No. That's not quite right.

I needed to write a letter. I felt that need. An old fashioned letter, in an envelope, with a stamp, the way we did a generation ago, but I had no one to write. I took out a pen and paper and I wrote "dear" on it, and I stopped there.

Outside, a fog was growing. Wisps of fog in the wind. I watched it for a while through the window. I thought of making a small fire in a portable fire pit that I keep on my patio, but I didn't. I didn't even go outside.

The fog slowly grew thicker and the unfinished letter with one word stayed on the table. I didn't turn on any music or the television. I left it silent and sat down in a chair for a long time.

Time is nothing.

There was an old iron bridge across the river, in the bottom land, hidden from the houses by many trees. We would meet there. Willows and Cottonwoods kept watch for us. The river wound toward the sea like a fat brown snake. We spun ourselves into a wheel of flesh, far from the eyes of judgement. Our skin was shiny with sweat. Late into the night we would spin and spin. She and I.

Life is a night ride across the prairie, with your horse racing full out... I know, it isn't my best line, is it? I’ll slow the horse down to a saunter and give it some more thought. At least there is this; the moonlight is bright, and I can see the mare's breath in the cold night air.

The moon, like a snake, shed her skin last night. Skinless, she glowed even brighter, I could see that her light was the beacon that marked the dark and rocky shore, and so saved the small boats. Her light was a candle left in the window for the child who wandered so far; years have passed and she hasn't returned. Her light was a prayer across the face of the earth. Moon-skin at our feet. A light on our human faces.