A Balinese Mystery

November 5, 2012 Poetry and Art

The big Quan Yin statue
at the southern edge of our garden
is always the first to touch
the equatorial morning sun.

My wife stands, naked,
at the lip of the black bottomed pool
with the yin yang design,
preparing for an uncharacteristic
Asian swan dive.

A moment of clarity.

A Buddhist calm descends,

as I realize that the frog
who surely will never see life
outside this walled compound

must know something

about that fucking monkey
who’s been stealing our fruit.