Prayer

We’re the cloud people
Getting by on less
Sleeping under thatch
Not talking much
Writing so much less
A few poems perhaps
We let go of the world
Working the higher slopes
Out of touch with the times
But not the seasons
Having none of your doubts
And none of your reasons
And it comes down to this:
We traded flatland dust
For mountain mist
To be distant
Insignificant
And you know we’re there
Beyond your city walls
Where you see lone columns of smoke
After the snowfalls
Don’t think we’ve been pushed
From their hearts and minds
Though sage kings are gone
And left deserted shrines
We live on unseen
In the mountain fires
Try not to be alike
With your beads so new
Crowded mountains won’t do
And though your tongues are full
And there are words to speak
None of them are real
None of them will heal
Ten thousand things
All in this breath
Grasping hold of emptiness
Grasping hold of emptiness