Nothing Said

I will speak it- leak an open mind.

A seekers approach is steeped in dopeness

and time-

Honored traditions- raise a cup of boiled leaves,

evaporate the elixir and read what your future see's.

Kaleidoscope inspirations, perspective stained like glass,

change the reflection to perfection, the broken mirror marries the trash.

Beautiful outcast, golden egg gift, the goose is missing,

it's mother makes like the sky- clouds are eyes, silence is listening.

©Krishna Volk 2009

Where I Can Be Lost

When the colors of the morning are only approaching shadows,
I glean praises from my neighbor’s mouths
and spin them in the part of my mind that says hello,
washing the letters of my name before I am called again.
Before I turn to be with them, my complexion is arranged
so that they look at themselves.

My face would have the dew of grass
so that they think I am simple -
no one would know what to say
to a person who walks on the earth -
I would amble to the woods, slung with a bag of rice
and they would claim that I was real.

Above city lights, after I have worked,
I could forget the telling of mirrors -
no speaking would satisfy me
where my hands can be lost
in grasping - I would close my eyes
and not remember how to open them.