The Willingness of Ink

With almost enough silence
to hear the breathing of your mind,
to hear the strings of words
knotting themselves into a necklace of poetry--
a sutra sung for every train car
and every crack in the concrete--
I still my pen in its scratching,
to get closer to enough,
to let nothing happen
so I needn't bend my head
to the trajectory of echoes,
I needn't resist even my resistance
or hope to know.

Within the willingness of ink
to take a shape in paper,
I hear your mind
breathing
close.




jerry gordon
1.22.6
Cafe Independants, Kyoto