My heart yearns toward a monk's cell
perched on the edge of a mountain cliff,
halfway between here and heaven.
Yet here I am, in a grey little town
in the valley,
trying to fashion my unwieldy life
that does not give offence.
My challenge, the cliff-walk
of understanding the distance
between where you are
and where I long to be.
My practice, the lighting of incense
and, sometimes, hearts,
with the weaving of words.
My sorrow, the mantra of my soul:
how to tame
the tiger's nest of
keening for all that was,
all that may never be again,
so it may bed down
A poem from 2015, thatI will share with the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.