vanished lands,

on a sandy sea floor sit stones —

once a city

who will find them?

what a pity,

someone dragged those stones into place,

nudging them into the shape of a temple,

a temple where fish now seek shade.

the carcass of an ancient inn
rests in a valley green
weary voyagers would long trudge
by the time it was seen

through a pass and round a bend
shaded by stark snow-caps
caravans moved by sight and coots
without a guide or maps

I heard the Buddha from the banks
of a river gently flowing.
Long before throngs swelled his ranks,
in the days of heaven knowing.

I sought the ferryman to cross,
to hear more than a faint mumble.
I felt missed words as a great loss,
and was made both mild and humble.

But, having missed that wise sermon,
my own truth I must determine.

Pile my sins up over that fire,
and singe the sins you find most soft.
Though I’ll not hop upon your pyre,
but sin the sin I sinned most oft.

Burn me like an old, wooden toy,
but I’ll spark to ignite your cuff.
For I’m no less the mischievous boy
then before my first skin sloughed.

And when your fire fades to embers,
glowing amid the cold, gray dust,
I hope you’re able to remember
what made your little fire combust.

T’was not me who engaged the flame,
for mine isn’t a dry kind of shame.