Invisible Monastery

Here I am again
facing this wall flowering
with all these voices
in the heart of perfect wisdom as
a woman in a green cap
packs a painting of a famous
smile. I still don't see
what to do with these
new layers of confidence and doubt,
these nods and smiles
and ignorance not yet unhidden
and thus retaining their infinity.

There is no way to ignore
the garden pouring in
from each seed
planted, even if beside the air conditioner vent.

A flourishing is such
a flourishing.

Now, the song seeping through the
thatch and scratches
is the mumbling tenderness
of less than sure
conversation; my invisible monastery
with its ever-liquid walls,
each stain a flower
of petals born of
tongues and glances.




by Jerry Gordon
4.28.07
Salon de Amanto