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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.

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