Saturday, August 6, 2011

Nicaraguan Sonnet 9: 3am, Upstairs

Arising was harder than usual today.
Wasp clips my head in warning.
No more fussing and stop the delay.
Upstair I stagger meditation morning.

The sleep was ocean deep and mountain calm
as I meditated on goodness alone.
Shaking off the bird coo and hissing wave balm,
as cold shower streams pierce my waking bones.

The Nica forest quiet and asleep
fill my offering bowls overflowing.
Incense, prostration, posturing my heaps.
Enfolded anchors against winds blowing.

Embouchuring my cracked lips with great saints.
Worlds born from colors, these prayers are my paint.

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