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CHARLES
WRIGHT
Saturday Morning Satori
When the mind is exalted, the body is lightened, the Chinese say,
Or one of them said,
and
feels as though it could float in the wind.
Neglecting to say like what, I think it might be like a leaf,
Like this leaf in careless counterpoint
down
from an unseen tree,
West wind deep bass line under raven shrill.
No,
it's a feather,
One thing in a world of images.
It's not a question of what we think, we think too much.
It's not a question of what we say, we say too much.
A thing is not an image,
imagination's
second best,
A language in which the heavens call out to us
each
day in their gutturals. 
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