As Tulips Dance & Sway

As Tulips Dance & Sway

Spring nights and cool mornings
Draw back their curtains slowly
Letting in the moist day
Wherein they exude their blossoms.

Over the river of the moon, the bells
Have begun pealing to the noon cinders
And the clinging veils of gray mountains
Spindle and droop lumps of light into barrels.

Sand along the river bank warms slowly.

The clock confines the lilies while the hands 
Of monks lift baskets of apricots.
Long robes file into the galley; short knives
Bring each incision to fruition.

The cowboys are never blind to evening prayers, 
As dust settles in the afternoon rain; the priest
Will bless the bread and pass the plates 
To the younger ones first.  Not that they are 

More aggrieved or disheveled but that they
Need more time to collect their breath
In the exalted air of the monastery.  An old
Monk’s eyes light up at the thought of authentic work.

Sand along the river bank warms to the touch.

In the stillness of the meal, one young cowboy
Mentions the sight he saw just this morning:  the tulips
On the western slope in front of the sprawling ranch house
Were dancing and swaying as the morning prayers

Were beginning in the meditation halls.  He wonders
If they are praying along with the worshipers.  He wonders
If God put this thought in his head as an invitation
Never to leave.  His boots on the gravel-sand seem to fail

Him, and he turns back to ask the old monk how long
Before he could be as calm and assured as he wishes.
Sand along the river bank warms slowly.
Sand along the river bank warms to the touch.