Yurt
Apr 20 2011 Filed in: Jims Poems
Yurt
A loose pile of men
Raked themselves
Into the temple of a yurt
One night. The moon was
New and the woods were black
With shadows.
So what if they weren’t
In Mongolia.
They could still smell the
Sweetness of grass
And the breath of horses
Almost in farm country.
Prayer flags lined the walls.
As thoughts burned like cold wind
On every face. Blessings circled
Like witches around a fire.
While old men contained
What was in their hearts
Even as they tried
To figure out
What it was.
A loose pile of men
Raked themselves
Into the temple of a yurt
One night. The moon was
New and the woods were black
With shadows.
So what if they weren’t
In Mongolia.
They could still smell the
Sweetness of grass
And the breath of horses
Almost in farm country.
Prayer flags lined the walls.
As thoughts burned like cold wind
On every face. Blessings circled
Like witches around a fire.
While old men contained
What was in their hearts
Even as they tried
To figure out
What it was.