january

from a long time ago, i did my best to write a poem at least once a month, about that month. then i joined the army and it became harder to do.

I walked beneath the high, high stones
Which curved like molten ribbons traced by lines of yellow and cream
In late January, the sky was the color of the lupines on the hills in April
And patches of dirty snow were packed with fine sand.
I walked in between the high, high stones
And their shadows were purple grey and peaceful
There were no crows sawing talk in the trees.
I walked small and human between the high, high stones
Looking up and hardly seeing the lupine skies.
It was a monastery that echoed hymns as old as
In the Beginning
When I really listened.
Only in the panther shadows did I feel the winter that rattled the trees
Who trembled in reverence
Elsewhere
Sunlight followed liquid rocks
As they followed dry streams
Elsewhere I heard other voices
Not the stones.