i sit with a serbian monk

on my flight to amsterdam.

he is wearing a black robe
with a golden necklace of
beads framing the manger
scene. The bishop appears
to be donning a hat from
krispy kreme doughnuts,
only it is black and
stitched with cotton.

we are both on our way to
the city of rivers and wooden
shoes to meet two fellows,
both named Tiptoe.

mine wants me to tiptoe through
tulips’ morning hue on my way
to banks of the amstel,
the western edge where turtle
doves cry.

he wants his breakfast
served with soft greys of
melancholy.

the monk has a wider audience.
he tiptoes down the center aisle of
a serbian orthodox church, as
delicately as possible, sat in the
northern corner of
the city.

each tiptoe sinks into shadows
of silver hue, bright holes in a
wondrous heavenly sky.
Congregants stand in awe.

They always stand
in reverence for the duration
of a service.

Children somehow manage,
their eyes glazed over,
while they dream of
morning doughnuts.

One day later I do too.

Room service?

Greg Wood is an Appalachian poet from Virginia who lives in Birmingham, Alabama. He has been climbing mountains his whole life. In the year 2013, he reached a pinnacle when he founded an arts group called Skylight. The group reaches hundred of people across the United States through art, creative writing, music, and native gardening.