5 a.m. Temple Service
By Paul John Roach
Waking up in the moist dark,
Shaking off the desire to sleep,
It’s up to dress without thinking
And out, shuffling on the gravel path
Through the trees
Where birds are already singing,
Into the glowing temple
Where we will be singing too.
Life wants willing participants
Of whatever sort.
It’s then that something happens,
Bending the invisible fabric of emptiness
Into a shimmering singularity.
We stand silently laughing at our own invention,
And in a flash
It’s time for breakfast.
