it came with a bookmark from a long-defunct San Franciscan bookstore

guru priest
pastor politician
comedian leader.
they do not give
salvation.
they do not have it
to give.

a book arrives
in the mail,
inside it a
handwritten
inscription,
“Kathy,
Best Wishes!
Christmas 1977.
Love Brian”.

it is not
the utterance
of the words
themselves
that brings us
our peace,
rather it is
our place in
the chain of speakers,
unbroken,
connected.

a thousand years ago
a human who
looks much like
you or i
earnestly recited
words of devotion.

these same words,
still, on
our ears,
over
our tongue;

“your pulse,
it beats in my
throat”.

mostly in the dark, a man sits and looks.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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