Looking within
I find seasoned wood
split and ready for the pyre.
I throw in with heretics
daring immolation,
snow monks melting ice
with silence.
The inner fire grows hot
as more of myself
turns into flame,
heat preparing me
for the distant mountain.
Reading of “Prepare for the Mountain” with music by the Gyuto Monks
Getting ready to cross that mountain….
Happy Father’s Day, Don
O the Glory! kindling prepared and aflame, well before the old log, seasoned, cut to length and split, now catches fire—the whole tree gone, leaving this perfect place in space—moving, as we do, me and you, from Glory unto Glory, from Don unto Dawn of this new day. O the Glory!
Beautiful poem Don. Thanks for sharing.
Wow—this one is a little unnerving for those of us who don’t yet feel The Grim Reaper breathing down the backs of our necks. However, I like the contrasting fire and snow images which are so historically evocative, although people like women (witches perceived as “heretics”) who were burned (“immolated”) at the stake (“pyre”) died an unspeakably horrible death. I don’t know about snow monks—snow monkeys, yes—but that provides a strong contrast. The final dismount is a relief as it is a process I understand and just recently saw Mom going through. Poetry is supposed to startle and deepen, and that’s what this one does.