Was there a Monk on the Mountainside?

A flash of red behind on the slow
drive down the mountain into town.
I looked back and on the ledge
a shock of robes, a clear view
vision serene face of a monk
in slow moving meditation, the
pause of time, bright deep orange
against the shining marble face.

I don’t know if it counts as a poem or a
metaphor, that I didn’t and don’t
know if it happened inside or
outside of me: the clouds
shuddering a peak over, casting
moody blues against this
sunny yellow glow on
scrub and stalks, the valley laid
out like a god, so much space
between the clouds between the edges.