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| It's Dark and the Font Is Small | Hoag Holmgren |
| Zazen
hollows the hours, the tongue, the requiems for self that rip the
knees.
A vigil for the snowslide of vast, the vigil itself a kind of slide.
How the
silence de-squirrels the house. How any cuff of world can offer the
one eye.
The old refrigerator stumbles through; the old refrigerator sits
on the zafu.
And on the wall: tiny words you’ve never noticed. Lean forward
in the votive
light. Your Name Here. |
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