“To be detached is to stand in the middle of the marketplace, with all its confusions and noise and to remain present to yourself and all that is.” Judith Lasater
I rush off to follow a delicious scent,
hurry to the vendor of dreams and silk,
linger by the dovekeeper’s stall,
listening to the murmurs of
sleepy doves in gilded cages.
Dozens of languages pass by,
bright as robes of every color tossed over shoulders.
The falafel man’s food is sizzling,
someone in the next aisle of the bazaar is playing music.
The stringed instrument’s notes, soft and low,
slip through the crowds,
below hems, over canopies, through every stall,
Music washing our busy faces.
And what with keeping an eye out for pickpockets,
haggling prices, juggling parcels and dreams and coin purse,
I forget to stand still,
immersed in everyone else’s hectic presence,
Present here in our market place.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 