in the chapel
on Merton’s birthday
all the candles lit
ink-stained, coffee-stained,
cheese-stained, and beer-stained
my photo of Merton
not a single Merton book
inside the cabin
winter solitude
the trail begins
Merton entered the monastery
the year that i was born
nothing whatsoever
happening at the pond
Merton could write about it
the
patriarch
tree
struck
by
lightning
and
Merton’s
dead
sparrows
i get in line
Thomas Merton’s grave
i buy a watchcap
exactly like his
wear it home
Merton’s Hermes
my Hermes
the “i” key the same