Jerome meditating

The organ of visions are closed.

The windows are open

The cerulean towel is spread

in the center of the floor.

The windows are open

The leg are crossed

in the center of the floor.

Shirtless. Shoeless

The leg are crossed

The chest is bare.

Shirtless. Shoeless

with a perforation in your left sock.

The chest is bare.

The skin pale.

With a aperture in your left sock,

you enumerate from one to ten.

The skin pale.

The breath steady.

You number from one to ten

like a child practicing scales.

The breath steady

in spite of cogitations that dart and swoop

like a child practicing scales

during rush hour.

In spite of contemplations that dart and swoop,

a single sweetness of sound heard

during rush hour-

somewhere someone whistling an unfamiliar tune

A single pleasing succession of sounds heard

comprised of all the noise, horns and birds.

Somewhere someone whistling an unfamiliar tune

Then intermittent twinklings of calm.

Comprised of all the noise, horns and birds,

discreetly a moderate wind enters the room.

Then intermittent twinkling of an eyes of calm.

Hands resting upon knee's.

Discreetly a breeze go intos the room

passing like a glance over

hands resting upon knees,

books in piles all around.

Passing like a glance over-

what is it you are thinking now?

Book in piles all around:

Walter Benjamin and Meister Eckhart.

What is it you are thinking now,

at this jiffy in this room-

Walter Benjamin? Meister Eckhart?

The incense continues to burn

At this jiffy in this room,

there's a vase of pussy willows behind your head.

The incense continues to burn

but the candles remain unlit.

Yet plane with pussy willows behind your head,

you strike one as being sober, so absorbed.

The candles remain unlit

though the latitude grows dark.

You seem sober, for a like reason absorbed,

the stillness filling each corner

as the room swells dark

and I watch as if you were asleep.

The stillness filling each corner,

in the kitchen I bring on water for tea

and watch as if you were asleep...

nothing on the other hand the sound of your heartbeat.

In the kitchen I place on water for tea,

aware of the reverberation each move makes.

Nothing on the contrary the sound of your heartbeat

like a shell bringing the ocean home

Elaine Equi's latest collection of piece of poetrys is Decoy, recently published by means of Coffee House Press. She lives in novel York City and teaches at the of recent origin School and The Writer's Voice.

Copyright World rhyme Incorporated Mar 1996

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