
Summer afternoon:
light plays through the gates, like
glow from a shrine beyond.

Summer afternoon:
light plays through the gates, like
glow from a shrine beyond.
Stacks and stacks
of wooden plaques:
Prayers on front,
Art on the back.
Each a wish
and a dream?
More an expression,
or so it seems.
Whatever prayer
may be writ,
There’s always
something
more to it.
A need to show
one’s unique soul:
To tell the world
that one is whole.
A life reduced
to a shingle:
Multitudes,
to a single.

prayer placards
ring a Chinese banyan:
weathered wishes hanging.

i walk a calm street,
but find myself facing
a rabid Tengu