Something niggles,
like an itch in a corner
just out of reach.
The day was a pleasant enough,
helping a friend serve the monks
at the Buddhist monastery.
Steeped in tranquility,
lulled by birdsong,
sang to by streams.
But a haze came creeping around the corners.
Like a nebulous shadow
cast by a rain cloud
lurking just beyond the horizon.
I try to pin it down,
out-stare it in a staring contest,
but it shifts shape,
defies definition,
steals away.
Maybe the boil will burst in my sleep.
Maybe in my dreams
it will show its face.
For now, I chase
the shifting shadows.
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