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.
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.
© 2016-2020/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Conversations with Mary: Words of Attention and Devotion"
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