A poem I wrote some years ago:

morning meditation

1

beyond the gate, the dusty path
is gently swept by the wind
prayer flags that hung serenely
now flutter

and the smell of the shore
salt and seaweed

the morning sun divides the room
into darkness and light
we sit
discarding our selves
descending the mind

contentment floats on currents
of something forgotten
in a dying flame
awakened in the unveiled silence

2

whatever there is to love
should be loved
in a such a way that leaves
not a scent of indulgence

no scrape of armor
no semblances or
verve pipes

the bell rings
but quietude remains
now listen

the soughing of waves
along the wild shore