Saturday, January 1, 2011

Meditating on New Year's Day

When the room fills with light
And the scent of cinnamon
And my hands finally warm on my lap,
Then I gaze on the light
And its eventual shift into dullness,
Returning again with my breath.


Rebekah said...

Jade and ebony coolness, entrancing curved-brush patterns in bowl and tea surface. "So dawn goes down to day"?

Cha sen said...

Or a wayward branch blocks a beam of sunlight.