Monk in a Storm
Gaunt face leaning forward into it
Scraggily thin kimono
Pulled tight around skinny shoulders
Sticks for sandals
Above him giant tress
Bent over in slashing lines of heaven’s cruel flood
The stream boiling out of its appointed path
Threatening to devour
The frown shaped little bridge
That was his next step
But on his face
A look of grouchy peace
Determination
But not for battle
No sense of surprise
Or that any of this was unfair
Or not what it was supposed to be
Or that his proper place
Was anywhere else but in it
Walking
Slowly, determined, wet
As he was meant to be wet
As right to be wet as the storm was right to be a storm
And the other picture
A painting by a different artist
Of a tiger fleeing in terror
From rain and thunder
A tiger who could have eaten the priest
And still been hungry for a cow
But was running in terror with no place to hide
Told the story
When I was caught halfway home with two bags of groceries
And no umbrella
It helped.
Gaunt face leaning forward into it
Scraggily thin kimono
Pulled tight around skinny shoulders
Sticks for sandals
Above him giant tress
Bent over in slashing lines of heaven’s cruel flood
The stream boiling out of its appointed path
Threatening to devour
The frown shaped little bridge
That was his next step
But on his face
A look of grouchy peace
Determination
But not for battle
No sense of surprise
Or that any of this was unfair
Or not what it was supposed to be
Or that his proper place
Was anywhere else but in it
Walking
Slowly, determined, wet
As he was meant to be wet
As right to be wet as the storm was right to be a storm
And the other picture
A painting by a different artist
Of a tiger fleeing in terror
From rain and thunder
A tiger who could have eaten the priest
And still been hungry for a cow
But was running in terror with no place to hide
Told the story
When I was caught halfway home with two bags of groceries
And no umbrella
It helped.