i enter an empty temple. 

it’s not silent.

footfalls resonate
&
floorboards creak.

but flickering flames
&
sleepy-eyed Buddhas
are quiet enough

in an hour,
the monks will filter in
with great punctuality:
monks, young and old.
(i would say, “and ages in-between,”
but they all seem young or old.)

there will be chanting,
and the din of finger cymbals
and deep-toned drums.

and i will leave
for the solace 
of the world 
outside the temple.