He Attempts to Explain His Religion
by Mark J. Mitchell
That the mystery is masked
is given. Names are tried on and discarded.
No one name will answer.
A breeze might brush your face,
just after sunset on the equinox, say.
It leaves a mark, a scar.
No ritual can bring that back,
with its kiss of dangerous knowledge.
The mark is always invisible on your face.
Each day you watch the breeze of your breath
and try to tune your hollow soul
so that mystery can play you like a flute.
Mark J. Mitchell has been a working poet for forty years. His latest full length collection is Roshi:San Francisco published by Norfolk Press. He lives with his wife, the activist, Joan Juster.
