ZUÒ CHÁN (ALONE AGAIN)

This morning I plucked
a thread of silence
from the dawn, watched
carefully by a cardinal
who knew not to break
the purity of the moment.
I do this as often as I can,
sometimes grabbing one
from the moon as it sits
overhead holding out
its promise of quietude
as people retreat into homes.
From these threads
I have begun to knit
a shawl, which, when done
I will drape over my shoulders
as I assume the zafu
and welcome nothingness
into a space I will create
from everything around me.

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