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With Abandon


I keep seeing old farm houses
that do not exist
flash by,
gray with another age,
at the vanishing point,
in the crucible of all things,
in a sleeper
emptying
across the platform at Sunderbyn,
where only Anna waits;
only I disembark

The next morning,
center of cat's purring,
center of everything;
an uncontested rest;
the house at rest
in the early morn farm calm
of the late autumn darkness,
the No-Gate Gateway koans
speaking off the pages
of a thin volume,
formulating day/no day,
world/no world

Breath: A prayer wheel
grinding
the illusion of time
down the whereabouts
of our bodies,
with abandon




Fri vers (Fri form) av Ingvar Loco Nordin VIP
Läst 15 gånger
Publicerad 2020-11-12 12:21



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