
cliffside bamboo
becomes a sumi-e
when clouds roll in

cliffside bamboo
becomes a sumi-e
when clouds roll in

Buddha statues’
fine robes & bejewelment;
what would he have worn?

a field of flames
dance in rows of butter lamps
in the dark temple

mountain magpie
flits from post to post,
skirting our camp

fringed by clouds,
the valley sat under blue —
but not for long

the cattle afar
turn sharp eyes upon me,
and i know they’re wild

rounding the temple,
heard: faintly squeaking wheels;
seen: not a soul

monochrome moth,
but for its yellow cape,
looks pencil drawn

caterpillar queue
marches in lockstep
across the road

rolling stone: no moss?
it thrives in cold, flowing streams
of Himalaya