Dwelling in the Moment


          Dwelling in the Moment

It’s made of a few brushstrokes,

the roof a downward sweep, the walls

two swift verticals of thick dark ink,

no smoke from the chimney, no face in the window,

but in the yard a single cherry tree

and in the hills beyond, blue mountain mist

floating over blue mountains.  Almost no one

dwells here.  Almost no one

has crossed the little bridge that leads to here,

looking over the railing

to see her own reflection staring back.

                         -Dick Allen, Superstition Review

Categories: Poems & Photos

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