Today, I meditate with the ducks.
Sitting cross-legged on a cement circle,
I attempt to practice mindfulness.
When the quiet becomes too deafening,
I give up and watch the ducks instead.
They navigate the reeds sticking up
out of the water: a ramshackle barricade.
Asses up: searching for food below.
Heads up, seemingly serene, treading
water franticly below the water’s skin.
I’d rather say “quack” then “ohm” in this moment.
If I utter “namaste,” the ducks will fly off
as if at the sound of a gun or a dog barking.
I am content to feel the wind muss my hair
and watch the light illuminate the iridescent
underpinnings of the ducks. And I am at peace.