Monday Poem

The Pool of Buddha’s Eyes
Jim Culleny

The asphalt of the walk to the door is black
but not as dark as the silence
of the concrete Buddha on the porch
as I climb the steps to work.

The Buddha sits center on the top step
with downcast eyes, a nascent nest
in his hands, eyeing bits of straw
a bird has brought and placed
as if it thought the safest site
to build this spring was in the lap
of the grey Buddha upon a porch
in a small town on a planet
in a galaxy among billions
in a small universe swimming
in the pool of Buddha’s eyes.