Afternoon meditation at the ecovillage
The focaliser’s eyes pace back and forth
behind their lids. He inhabits his mind.
My stairwell’s blocked with half-unpacked boxes.
One is labelled my version of events and rattles
when I shake it. I hear his throat creak
as the fifth dimension swings open.
What’s he doing up there? How long
since he took the batteries out of the wall clock?
There’s a knock at the tangible door.
Pottery’s got the room from six.
Lucky for me I never found the inner attic.
Our diesel Om evokes a refuse freighter
pushing clear of the dock and – like that –
I’m among the gulls following its hump of landfill.
I realise I am inside myself, circling my innards.
One of the gulls says: „Joe, our time is up.“
How true. My mind is alternately half empty,
half full at the sheer waste/dinner of it all.
