Friday, September 26, 2014

Singing bowl

Morning meditation.  Glad for it.

I watch the early morning sun
Through still green leaves,
Doors open to hear the birds,
I hear lawnmowers instead.
I find my finger circling
The top of my dinosaur coffee mug,
Realize almost anything
Can be a singing bowl,
Faint singing
But singing nonetheless.
Now I hear the birds
Under the sound
Of the lawnmower.

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