Vermont Mandala
Vermont Mandala
Round and Round, defiant of the straight line
I til the dirt with my orange hand,
My strong arm, my iron spine
White and gray layers dance in my spirals,
gleefully trapping earthworms in their chiseled beaks
He yells over the engine to go in straight lines,
and I pretend I can’t hear
There is no stopping my private dance
The engine hum adds to the soundtrack
superceded only by my inner mandala
erasing lists and thoughts beyond the now
Clearing now, I backtrack,
smoothing the canvas for spring growth
Renewed, the soil and I
dream of our winter’s sleep
before the creation myth begins anew
