Archive for May, 2015


Bodhi trees

arching above these

pilgrims to a shrine

see everything come & go

child’s balloon floats

up to some empyrean

far too high for retrieval


always come.

Buddha        not an Icarus

who made wings of his mind

had nowhere to fall

bodhi leaves        gathered

at his feet.

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Still Life

Woman on the other side who

coughs like a sick cat. Stale

rain & fish-paste, frying

chilli through the broken

window-frame, true dreams

imbibed in needless sleep.

Burmese cleaner who knocks

on the door—temple dancer make-up,

a single beauty spot, spunglass hair

in a net, does the toilets twice a day,

been here a thousand years. He chews

betel always & has a catalogue of smile

that outlasts the marketplace. Some

kind of Buddha, they say.

When the rain starts again, there is

no window to close. From the street, talk

of someone who has

never left.

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