A Beggar's Allowance

Just enough light shoulders through midnight's piling veil. Of course, the moon does not desire to arrive or spill into orbit. Yet a certain persistence attends for which I am grateful.

Under the gauzy spell, I dreamt of a horse with a coat the same white-gray as January's sky. Whenever I opened the door to his home, he was standing there asleep. With a few blinks he would wake to shared apples and wisdom in a timeless visit.

And after a night of blackened storms, a day of meandering drizzle. My hands move towards mudra and settle into a beggar's allowance. I shut down the distance and then I release the affection. None of this makes me immortal, only sane.

My vision continues to grow dim. So, new glasses and new ways to stumble around in the dark. It's funny how I don't scramble for my clothing when I cannot see a thing.

There is a monastery I visit from time to time but I cannot live there, which makes me less of a monk and more of a tourist. Shoeless footfall on cobblestone / the hungry stray under the arched sill / belonging less

Lemon ginger tea to settle and tented words under summer storms. I eat my first nectarine in years and it melts in my mouth like a first kiss. The lingering flavor seduces long past the press of lips.

A sleepy heart forgets to make the most of June's daylight. Perhaps for that reason alone I finally get out of bed.