poem

 Sedona KoanFirst they were mountainsFor all phenomena deserve a name And then they became facesStern and forlorn like old menGathered in the shade of a rickety porchGazing upon a baked red desertBored and uncaring Seeking to name others nowSecretly considering the originOf their own names Through the processOf doggedly enduringFirst I was a boy called by a nameThen I was a man staring into a mirror, Whispering his name over and over Until it lost all meaning Until I became just a face in the mirrorLike a mountain against the clear blue sky Mountains like old men ’s facesRing the town of SedonaWizened with weary resignationGashed with vertical creasesBored by a million yearsOf runoff rain sluicing the rock  Of lashing winds and baked in the heatI have come seeking wisdomIn this arid quiet placeWhere thirst is never slaked Even when the monsoon rains come.Here my mouth is chalked with dustAnd my last canteen is emptyAnd there is nothing but the dry rueful sadnessOf the completely desiccatedWho have no tears left to leakIn the evening after dinnerWe try to climb Bell RockHand over hand as high As we can, the surprising cool smoothStone like bone against our palms Like reptilian skins justBefore the rattlesnake strikes Down below, we watched the pagans dancing As the sun fell beneath the orange western hills Mountains are holders of timeWhile faces trace the path of a life:Every smile, every grimac...

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - August 1, 2022 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs