At Thich Nhat Hanh’s Zen meditation retreat

the Vietnam Vet describes how he has never
stopped hearing the music of the wind
as it moved through bamboo,

and the wind around us moves
as though the old groves in their tropical
heat are singing, here, far to the north

and west, on this small Vermont farm
in the dark winnowing of the year.
Here, as we open our hearts

to the large wound still bleeding
in the heart of our nation,
we come to the understanding

that War maims even those
whose bodies emerged intact.
Listen to this music our slow

breathing makes as over and over
we sing our fear of the end of days.
Over and over we pray

for breath beyond the pain, the rage.
                                         11/3/99