Another day attempts
to slide by in the shadows,
avoiding capture by pen and
journal, fleeing into night
where November clouds
provide infinite hiding places.
Or, perhaps, it will find shelter
in the blinding golden glare
of Pan Wat Lao Buddhadam,
that appears mystically
out of the Henrietta field.
It’s monk smiles, knowing
so very little English,
and I not a word of Lao.
But our gassho brings
the smile of the Buddha
and that, we both understand,
knows no language barriers.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s