It was a cartoon
I think in the New Yorker
a novice monk sitting in meditation
next to an older monk
both cross-legged
on their mats
the young monk asking
so what happens next?

And that's my question too
after the dancers
have left the room
the music faded
to an old fashioned waltz
after you've settled down
into your life
your marriage
and the words
that once whirled madly
inside your head have settled
in the way that sediment
stirred up by shaking
and then left in peace
sinks to the bottom of the water glass
so you are left transparent
clear of past ambitions and desires
what's next?
the old monk had the answer
I still struggle with
nothing
he said
you're there
nothing is next