the day you roasted a squirrel on the barbecue

The warm breath of the saint.

You can see it through the window, the saint's face 

pressing against the pane of glass, 

his breath making a tiny fog. 

You are outside in the cold air and the saint is inside, 

the glass and a number of sins are still between you. 

It is the gray of winter and the entire world seems 

to be painted in shades of black and white and gray, 

like some old movie. 

On the other side of the window the saint breathes again, 

exhaling as hard as he can, and with his finger 

he begins to write you a message 

on the foggy glass. 

james lee jobe

“In Dōgen’s view everything is sacred, and to single out one specific thing, like a book or a city or a person, as being more sacred than anything else is a huge mistake.”

Brad Warner, Don't Be a Jerk: And Other Practical Advice from Dogen, Japan's Greatest Zen Master

The animals of the sun stalk across the valley, seeking their own shadows. 

Rattlesnakes strap on the shoes of long forgotten men 

and stride as if they had legs. 

Lizards with names and personal histories have entered 

the presidential primary races. 

Ghosts rattle invisible chains and speak of Odysseus 

and that damn wooden horse. 

A man with a shattered soul (who looks like me) 

tells the story of a winter that was bitter to the bone. 

A farmer has come to plant seeds in my brain, 

which is now filled with a rich soil. 

The animals of the sun are here at last -- oh life, 

where shall I go now? 

james lee jobe

Please consider supporting this blog by buying me a coffee. The link, just below, is safe. Thank you! 

james