I am

your monk

under soft cover of Hell’s kitchens;

the lonely master,

your Tibetan exile,

seeker of the lost city;

honed meteorite blade

camped in thick forest,

sole star of the wilderness,

the jewel framed in pitch.

Your student,

lotus on the 

wide waters’ yawn

and standing

bright eyed in our hearts’ waking

wanting your return,

the compassionate draw of your countenance

and its affection.