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John Harper

MAYBE IT IS YOU

 

the mist cannot

be seen through;

 

it’s made of small,

moving things

 

sticking to larger,

more life-long things—

 

but when you look,

with some peace of mind,

 

at some of these things,

they become

 

smaller and smaller

until you must ask

 

what they really are—

they seem

 

to have turned

into nowhere now—

 

 

MY BUDDHA

 

if i close my eyes,

its head has already

rolled away;

 

the rest of it

gladly remains upright,

waiting

 

for instruction

on what now,

now to do—

 

a white light exudes

from the inside seen;

the head

 

lies a few inches away—

i’m not sure

which to look at—

 

the meadows

of its overwhelming

heart of body

 

or its head,

casting a shadow

in wonderful moonlight—

 

i’m spooked

enough to say,

for fear of

 

retaliation, the head

has most

of my attention—

 

 

YOU NEVER NEED TO BE FOUND

 

it’s becoming ridiculous,

how i can seem confused

 

while also being

the very thing who says,

 

john, you’re lost—

it doesn’t matter its answer—

 

not at all; whatever i do

as an attempt to change

 

is to tighten my own noose—

but what’s even odder

 

is how hard i’ll fight

to keep the struggle real—

 

 

John Harper went to the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, and some of his poems have been published by literary journals like DIAGRAM, MID-AMERICAN POETRY REVIEW, CUTBANK, SPINNING JENNY, MAD HATTER’S REVIEW, and ZOLAND POETRY. He currently lives in Reading, PA, walking along Main Street of the heart.