I do not mean to read myself into paralysis with the NY Times
about child sex slaves with unspeakable techniques
or those thousands of infected chickens
buried alive in China, a heap of plastic
bags beneath loose earth bulldozed into containment.
I mean instead to practice moments of awareness--
walk, sit, sleep and, yes, read.
Today, I contemplate the meaning of sangha
how we gather together, wake each other
by mishap, and the great benefit
of that instead of this.
I don't mean to look the other way
while I indulge
in household dreams
as if this sand castle isn't already
dissolving in centrifuge.
What I mean to do is break
myself on rocks, taste dirt,
breathe out starlight into the cold dark.