Olema Blues
Sitting silently in zazen
an earworm love song with
big old hearts in my head,
the whole world morphed into music.
The room itself was a twelve bar blues fading
into crickets, or frogs, or
was that just my tinnitis?
A siren on Hiway 1, somewhere, a sinister guitar.
Alarmed, my caffeinated mind looked for
something solid. The redwood deck boards?
The gravel path? The gnarly eucalyptus trunk?
But no, all of it hummed with quantum motion,
And me? A shaky hammer striking emptiness,
emptiness resounding in sweet chorus for all with ears to hear,
Brown hills spinning show tunes faster than I
could possibly sing along.
- Barton Stone