The Gentle Way
When I stand it feels like I’m falling down. The muscles taught, tight against my bones.
My brain constricted in a thorn laced crown, a coffin being my only wanted throne.
The skin wrapped around my neck is the color of fire, the fingerprints stained against epidermis, of the man who gripped tighter.
Burns etched across my chest, from where the fabric scorched.
Bruises and abrasions my present from this game of chess, my knees smoldering as if they’ve been torched.
And when he calls stop, and the fight comes to an end.
The arms around my neck drop, and my enemy becomes once again my friend.
We bow and shake hands, and despite the setting we even dumbly laugh.
We get down in our stance, and we thank each other for such a class.
Of no thought, no distractions, just perfect zazen.
Simply absolute union with the body and mind, only sink or swim.
For when the hand that grabs becomes the only hand you know.
The eternal world becomes the two, and everything is in the throw.
