the minimalist's sanctuary                                              

It occurred to me this morning while listening

to Morton Feldman's "Rothko Chapel"

that the opportunity had again been offered me to embrace

the slightest measure of information and do something with it

(for the benefit of mankind, for fulfillment to come

to the vacant side of the nation, for the sake of the early kid

shanghaied by Priest into the bowels of the lightless sacristy,

 for blondies Dick and Jane to abandon their creators,

and run toward a higher calling,––

for the saints of the needle trade, my young mother among them

to be honored for their service) and this morning, Morton Feldman

comes to enlighten me as he travels in the silent space

between objects of his own making.