deep forest
creatures skedaddling
men walk like thunder

clean fresh Buddah minds
stainless saffron robes
my laundro-mat stinks

little runing feet
laugh, a'tangle in coat and hat
the bus always waits

trees rustle, a rush
of little paws and clamor
a picnic basket

Ah!Ha! says the monk
the poet bows gracefully
hiding a sly smile

birds sing, children play
a monk tends chores in silence
what does he not know

a confirmed recluse
his own shadow annoys him
living in the dark

a moment, captured
in gentle eloquence
the poet smiles

she waits for the mail
playing "loves me, loves me not"
again and again

in the post office
her face on a poster
he cries