Mind gone blank: Zen empty
across the creek gone dry,
shadows stretching over long blond feed,
first-calf heifers coming out from under
shade to water for an evening’s graze.
It’s all the mind I need.
The news rains off my shoulders.
Even the eclipse didn’t faze me,
but for the fuzziness in my gut.
For a moment, it worried me—
so disconnected to the periphery
I had no need for poetry—
no need for anything but to breathe,
to inhale and cleanse the flesh
as it melts into the gloaming.
drycrikjournal 
Yes.
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I particularly like this poem, John, because I’ve thought many of the same things over the past few weeks of bleak news, but been unable to express it in poetry. Thanks!
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I love the word gloaming. It works perfectly in this poem.
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