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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superceded only by my inner mandala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

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