Poetry in Search of the Way

In a ragtag group of searchers
waiting for a thought
one said, “I will give you
something to meditate on.”
He sat on buckwheat pillows
a flesh and blood Vishnu
at peace on an infinite snake.
By breath and background noises
they knew time had passed,
by an inner working they knew time
had passed, by the confused dimming of a flicker
of subjectivity’s candle they knew
time had passed and someone laughed
and another said, “We are waiting.”
And the one responded, “Now
we have something to meditate on.”