The olive
The tiny leaf
The large leaf
Their present life
Brought to an end
Detached from the food source
They will without doubt decay
Maybe to be turned into compost
Or become lost in the landfill
As may these few words
Which I, yes, maybe only I
Choose to call a poem
I touch the olive to the leaf
I smile
This day has hidden me from grief
I see his photograph on the book
He smiles
This day has opened up, to take a second look
I invoke an atmosphere almost mute
We smile
This day spa, has one neatly active water chute
100 beads of sweat
One olive, one leaf
On the manicured log
I hoped to belong
To belong
Is what I truly hoped for
To find a silence
A hoped for silence
In that song, where I belong
100 beads of sweat
Ten minutes, no more
From brow to bench
Brow of belonging
To bench of longing
Every bead just one more step
Steps
More steps to where I long
Steps, yet again, to help me belong
Longing
Longing for belonging
Belonging
In the longing for longing
Belonging
Belonging without longing
Longing
To hide away from belonging
Longing
Longing
Longing
Oh longing for belonging
Longing
Longing
Longing
Oh belonging with the longing
Longing to belong
Belonging to long
Oh belonging
Oh longing
There is a purple olive
As if there had been purple rain
There is a new branch on the tree
As if youth walks this way again
There is a twist to the trunk
As if the dancers twist their manes
There is a death sign to the floor
As if the old age leaves its stains
There are monks in robes
As if Matins is about to begin
Actually they are guests of the spa
Here to thermally detox their sin
The water falls as water falls
Towards the emptiness of Zen
The breeze dies as breezes die
Before the asking of why, or when
The corner of dry leaves lay quiet
Left alone to find their own peace
The sliding doors open silently
Yet to exit, is no certainty of release
