Lover of change, of delta,
Of poetry stuffed with raw porcelain
And craters of saddened basalt,
Glide your light across my beams of pale,
They gleam beneath silver and bolts of sinh,
Beneath my currents and soft bridges
Erected to span my humble limbs like chains.
Oh, kiss them, for the sake of memory,
For the sake of secrets as intangible as dreams
As meaningful as the dark hair tangling
My darling’s hands as she struggles
To become clean, to break free of mud
And to sing for the true naks sleeping beneath
Black stupas your candelabra face always forgets
Are there.
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