Place the lay monk in a room
full of earthen statues of men in prayer.
So that when he opens his eyes,
he finds mute reassertion.
And everytime he believes
that it is time to end a prayer,
He shames himself in the reproach of
a thousand glassy eyes raised heavenward.
And each time he places his folded hands
on the warm,thumping cloister under his robes,
To him,it reverberates in the chests
of the solid, cast men around him.
So that all his questions are answered in silence.
And any movement made by him,
driven by his own will,
is an act of infringement.
And so that his fear resides,
Not in forgetting the One
whose name he chants in cycles,
But in being seen when he does so.