Peter Waldor
In the Golden Period
Today at the Zen center
in Po Chu San my eyes
were too often open in
the meditation circle,
but how delightful
to sit quietly in
a room with others.
I looked at your
legs folded perfectly
as oiled shears,
and up to the great
cliff where Tu Fu
once camped
in the golden period.
The noisy river filled
the room and later
you told me your vision--
you got a Koch brother’s
address from your son
and sent a letter that arrived
at just the right moment
to convince him to stop
destroying the earth.
When my eyes were closed,
just as when open,
my vision was only of you.
Does this make me
the lover and you the beloved?
Mindfulness #1
As my hand travels just above you
my broken leather watch strap
drags across your chest,
like a muffler hanging off
a Chevelle on Route 280.
At high speed the metal
and concrete spark in the
car’s dark undercarriage
and the driver in the car behind
first curses the noise and then
notices the sparks and thinks
of them as catching in a feathery
ball of kindling deep
in the forest of mind.
