SITTING ON A MILK CRATE

(written last Spring in "The Crisis Resource Center" in Grants Pass, OR: thanks to old full-lotus Ken for his grape "peace cigars" and inspiration)

Haggard crows fly by over

majestically layered clouds
in a rich blue sky

above forest green mountains
tangled and pure

above the wood fence of this psychiatric rehab center:
my back aches and the wind
blows my blond bangs from side to side

behind my back by the basketball hoop
is another fence
behind which the women, some attractive,
live;
we see them about once a day

One of the phillipino nurses passes by
concerned by nought but the meds on her tray:
"salawat" or "thank you"
I always say

(Inside, the abrasive T.V. is always on,
but the walls are covered
with brilliant Monets:
the encyclopedia tells me he painted his water lilies
through cataracts)

there's abundant light from the Spring sun
but my feet are freezing
in the leather sandals
I acquired in Thailand
from a young Canadian

I have some money and could leave
but am melancholy
and it seems like a place
to voyage within

I smoke the day's tenth cigarette

it's raining again now:
all is zen and unzen