Sunday, January 10, 2016

The Pale Mists
















Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser


We must have been two of those old poets of China. I remember
being in good company, sitting on a rough-cut bench, smoking 
long pipes through streaming grey beards, high in the 
cloud-cloaked mountains. They say that masters come in many 
forms. For us, I think that it was the pale mists. How they taught 
us to see what we couldn’t see. How they taught us to write 
about unspeakable things.



© 2016/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Conversations with Mary"
To be published by Talking Waters Press in 2016

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