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Cliff ZazenStill as a monk facing the wall,The cliff across the river thinks of me. Smell of sunshine against purple rock, Waterfall sound in the box canyon. Prickly pear cactus clings to the cliff, To touch it is to eat jalapenos raw. "Richard!" "Isabel!" I call ahead To my husband and daughter along the catwalk. Narrow metal bridge bolted to bare rock, Steps and ladders leading up and down. The cliff doesn't care about me at all. We Jews believe life is a narrow ledge, Valium, Prozac, crack cocaine can't widen it. If I keep moving, I won't fall, My mother, an atheist, would murmur: Merciful God Be Praised. The soft tuff of widescape erodes to canyon, Redwing of the bird brightens the rain. The cliff wants to tell me that it is sitting still for me, Calls me "Mir" familiarly, like an old piano teacher. I know someday I'll understand Like the small perfect tree clinging to the rock. Right now, I could live forever. Vaya Con Dios on the flip side of the mileage sign. Should the cliff uncross its legs Then finally I'd stop clambering. |
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Issue #12, November, 1999 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.