Man and Oxen

 

On my way home
from the Ashram
yoga in the still forest
quietly burning on the inside

I came to a crossroads
and though I thought
it odd a man should walk
two oxen, yoked

and even more that it should rain
and mist and fog,
and still the beasts should
submit their will

rather than tear his flesh, and gore
his milk-white bones—
I simply hesitated
a moment longer than I would

had no mystery stood before me
while they three waited and
I paused
then went on my way

 

 

 

 

 

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