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.