Even In A Place Such As This

In a valley unbridled by
the city’s constant chatter,
there is a temple open to the skies
hoping perhaps to receive God
or at least a touch of rain.

In the temple is a garden,
Japanese in its devotion
to housing nothing
but an old tree, whose branches
in turn, house pious monkeys
curious in their tilted heads,
exploring the silence with
serendipity and honesty.

It is, I imagine, one of those rare places,
which answers more questions
than it asks.

And in the garden is a preist,
almost motionless like the tree,
but for the whispered
clicks of his thumbs, on the keys
of a new cellphone.

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