>by David Budbill
A gray and drizzling day
here on Judevine Mountain.
The birds and the wind are still,
and he too so dolorous and quiet
even his breath seems shrill.
His life is a vessel of silence
into which now voices begin
to flow. Slowly the vessel fills
like water filling a well. Now
they are calling more clearly,
calling from far below. Now
higher and closer to him. Now
the vessel is filled. Now it is
brimming over and his pen
floats on the brimming voices.
It follows wherever they go.
from Moment to Moment, Poems of a Mountain Recluse, by David Budbill