Poetry

Spherules start a pincer attack 
on the modesty of an epiphany. 
The manifestation was incomplete. 
 
The windows were very small in- 
the wind-palace. Only ringdoves 
were sitting on the sills, cooing all day. 
 
They were sitting in a row; cross- 
legged, the naked monks. As a penance 
they were getting the scalp hair pinched off. 
 
Swearing will not help. You need to 
suffer like a forgotten language, 
like grass blades who bend again & again.