My monk has dropped his beads

His cup is left overturned in the dirt

His robes drop

Alas reality

R e a l i t y

In concert

To my own cadence

Soft, sweet beat

Comes through me

I chase my breath around my mind

Never really grasping

Because there is nothing to grasp hold or take

I am fine

Whirling Within

Finally taking root

Finally sinking in

I am fine with that and

Moreover I am fine with me.