up the hill in the stone building

monks dress in long robes

they don’t know what we are doing

down here where the two streets meet

we don’t know either

such lack of knowledge is one of many bonds

between us

here by the corner room

the tulip tree lays down a pink carpet

of blossoms: Such beauty in death

the boundary between inner and outer disappears

we say things, or don’t say things

what is the difference

we have lifted up a corner of the universe

we’ll sleep, or stay up all night

in the morning the sun will remind us

that our dancing keeps the earth turning

and that the soul of the earth

stands up inside us and speaks the truth

∞

From the Fall 1994 issue of Inquiring Mind (Vol. 11, No. 1)

Text © 1994–2020 by George Taylor