Draughts of iron and salt.
They know they hunger,
These instruments of turning
With their quiet arias of change,
Their inventive waltzes
For raw lacerations.
Live flesh is spared their deliberate groping.
They only have bellies for the dead.
A shaved monk dreads samsara,
The eternal return.
A young boy saves
Coins for a bicycle.
Many mothers understand all of these routines,
Circumambulating their prams before nursing.
From On the Other Side of the Eye, 2007