Monastery

There is a certain Zen monastery,
The only time I go there
Is when I sit zazen,

A monk sweeps the sidewalks,
Wind through the lotus leaves
Stirs up dusty remembrances,

Climbing the path to higher elevations,
The clanging of kitchen pots
Becomes a call to meditation,

Blue mists swirl,
Voices of fellow monks
Rise and fall in distant incantations,

Suddenly bright sunlight,
Crickets chirping on the stone footpath
Avoid the bamboo broom.