Meditation
                                                                                   
John Harper


a wall of white fire
laps upwards
from your shoulders;

the mind falls out of itself
into sticks, then twigs
composting in the forest occurring;

  your feeling of insistence
on being here
cannot be tamed into

  one magical moment
with much happiness or vigor;
wherever you’re

opening your eyes, i guarantee
the far voice
in hushed imagination

has you wondering how much
more there is when
looking at the seconds of time--