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Into Great Silence

February 8, 2007 4 comments

In the abbey of the Grand Chartreuse
a monk kneels for the seventh time this day,
his lips moving silently,
his spine bent into its usual question.

Because he is the oldest they call him wise,
though sometimes he thinks he knows even less
than when he started.
Sometimes he wonders if this isn’t wisdom.

Outside, the first snowfall covers the mountains.
Blank and absolute
it offers itself to the mountain creatures,
it offers itself to their sure-footed hunger.
It offers them hunger.

by Esther Morgan

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