Ignorant Poem

 Chase Twichell        

I follow my breath as it goes in,
goes out. I want to know what I am -
a bellows of flesh, but what else?

That's what the stillness sings about,
day and night in the pine gloom.

The words of the sutra
call up all the new questions.
How can I be still in their presence?

The words are hanging fruits, too high
for even the tallest ladders of reason.