From the inky udder of night:
the first faint spray
of luminous delight
A milky grey, from far, faraway
dusts
our cult of edges
Next:
the flickering altar,
that puts Zoom calls to shame
The tee-shirt:
a wrinkled robe
of confession
Later, in the kitchen,
owl-light is shocked
into submission
A fluorescent hand
grabs
a razor sharp utensil
Shepherding Presence
gets eclipsed
by good posture
People
stop straddling
the timeless trance of toes
Gallop a different horse:
the trash-talking toy
of the Corporatocracy
Come nightfall, we eagerly swap
guilty twilight
for an innocent one
Wait eight hours
for a glance
from a magnificent, world-saving guru
That Master
of mercy and forgiveness:
ashram hours
~Hunter Reynolds
