Monk’s Reflection

I walk through the gate
wrought of iron and complication
Not a saint nearby to claim
my unformed simplicity.

My hair. Shorn bare
a ploy to anchor my drift
among Sirens stippled with salt
misdirecting my Fate.

My nakedness. Cradled in a bowl
reflecting an amber moon.
Not needing cover, my exposure
is soothed with emptiness.

My flesh. Stitched to a patchwork bib
sewn with broken needles of pine.
A shadow facing the wall
wears a robe of formless circumstance.

by Susan Keijo Sensemann

Image is drawing by Susan Sensemann, DesPlaines River mud on paper, drawn with sticks, 2018.