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Cherokee Walking Wide Meditation

Written in response to Ken Bloomfield’s photograph, Pensive Monk, April 2012.

 

In the corner of my red eye

Your crimson robe calls me in.

Like a red-tailed hawk

Circling a pow-wow on Mothers’ Day

Your essence blesses me and

I toe-heel my way onto your road

 

The Temple is close

Your feet become mine

Dusting the blond dirt

My hands hold the prayer

Beads that you count

Behind your back

I’m inside your shining head

Listening to your mantra

That I paint onto my forehead

Like a warrior’s third eye

 

My fingers move the Rudraksha    

Beads through yours

 

The Temples are full of ash

and old tires

Once in a while a fire is good

 

I can tell you are smiling although

Your face is hidden.