Jari Chevalier

It's so quiet at the monastery; I wait for the bells.
Veils move across veils, clouds at different altitudes.

So many times I felt like laughing and tried to be serious;
in the elevator we all look up at the numbers.

I've cheated myself, then come back begging. Whatever
the shape of the shadow, my conscience moves on the floor.

There is cruelty wringing its hands in our dinner plates, breaking
the bones, sucking at the marrow.

Sleep seduces; orchids collapse; bees suck the clover fiercely.
You can't strangle cruelty, its neck like a balloon's. Sunlight reaches

another star, bends there like hair down a staircase. It's so quiet I feel
the crush of every step and the trampled grass recovering behind me.