in memory of Thich Nhat Hanh
By RAHN ADAMS
Across the sacred expanse, down the brown hill, through the leafless trees, / past the pilot-less autos and bystanders, / I glimpse the monks of peace, / Walking, walking, walking…
Their saffron robes attract the sun like dreamcatchers do the moon, / leaving the highway and heading down, / then up and around the road’s curves, / Walking, walking, walking…
Like a slow roller-coaster, a burnt-umber line of linked cars, / the monks climb to the summit as if being towed or driven / by some higher power that is always / Walking, walking, walking…
Past all the lonely people standing with outstretched arms, / asking for alms with smartphones / from mindful men who breathe and walk / for themselves, for us all, and for a world of hope and healing.
Love this, Rahn!
Thanks, Linda. Timberley’s church pastels are among my favorites of her artworks. And I enjoy trying to write poems, like working a puzzle (even when they don’t rhyme).