To sit upon a cushion
mandala-embroidered
not to flush the mind of
all thought
instead to wrestle with
the self
existence as suffering
suffering as craving
the breath slots in
as the zen of assembling
furniture bought cheaply
from familiar corners of the Web
also the struggle as the parts
jiggle, pop, settle, break
breath goes in and out of rhythm
seeking not perfection
senses aflame may one day
cool in the crucible
forming wisdom
holding in one’s hands
the sacred
Unspoken Politics 