The Koan
I need to unsheath myself
from comfort, the layered distance
separating nerve ends from the cold,
to feel the coarse scrape of the world
and not just the intimacy of its downy touch.
I lounge too much in the quiet of myself
away from the hoarse sound
of the wind straining through
the trees, waves tearing water apart
and the screech of angry gulls.
I am too given to the notion
that the gods speak only in the calm
of perfect mornings, find voice
in places cleared of movement.
The heave and spill of the world,
its rupturing crust, fire, flood
and suffering are surely places
where the gods cannot reside.
My mind wrestles with what
seems like an unsolvable koan -
to exist, good gods
must find in such tortured places,
a home.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
