Sangha today is an
Oak and a jay and
An empty fire grate
With a beer can
I sit for short times
But keep writing rhymes
Taking pictures, but what of my real plan?
But you plan it, you lose it
So I never use it
Sitting still is like sitting on cactus
So I write and I wait
And it seems that my fate
Is not to continue this practice
No, I don’t remember you
We were way too high
I was just a college kid
You were just some guy
Pressed together in the sand
No future and no past
Just the ocean kissing land
No need to make it last
I don’t wonder where you are today
And I won’t even try
The thrill was just my age, the times
And you were just some guy
SHJ Issue 6 Fall 2012
Driving away from the ocean, I fall in behind a man with no legs
Raising his hands to propel his bike, a windsock marks his spot
A plane flies over
Driving meditation?
He is going fast
I am going slow
Yet we are both traveling at the same speed
For now there is the road
The sky, the plane
And the space between us
The Poetry and Prose of Barbara Huntington 