Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Box of ashes

When you stand still at the edge of the pond for too long
the ducks will think you came to feed them
even if you're just fumbling for your keys
or reading text messages.

Do ducks know about disappointment?
Maybe not.
If that's the case I will not be the one to explain.

I usually don't touch the incense to the flame.
I hold it right above it.
The flame will jump
seemingly through empty space.

In empty space I guess
there's not much difference between a centimeter
and millions and millions of miles.

Some words have been with me now for some time
but they have as of yet refused to become a poem.

Gather starlings / for the ink stain season / and the time of falling leaves.

I know it should have something to do with borders
and how borders shift
with time.

Wave the flame away into smoke.
Put the incense in a box of ashes.
Bow as the shrine room fills with fragrance.

Bowing is not easy.
But refusing to bow I guess
is like refusing to live.
But bowing is not easy.

It's a common illness
I hope the ducks don't know about.

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