Peace Wheel

Peace Wheel
Jonathan Moya


Monks kneel 
in the soil 
over a board of weighted stones—

pinches of  sand—
red, yellow, blue
settling where 
hands decide. 

Air held tight 
in the mouth is 
released only when 
a line needs steadying.

The wind pushes
against the edges,
lifting, shifting 
the smallest piles.

The monks bend lower,
spines forming 
an arc,
a golden wall.

Sand funneled
breath by breath 
through narrow tubes—
testing  patterns 
that resist the wind.
   
The board trembles. 
A corner lifts.
A gust takes a section—

then another—until
the shape breaks open
and scatters 
across the yard.

The monks 
gather the tubes,
brush the board clean.
Begin again.