On that final rite of, passage in our, lives, translated…

From the Ancient Riverside

Entered into a Tomb

Blooming by the Rock Cliffs

Toward the Seat of Buddha

Your Stuffed Up Luggage Contained All the Trials of a Lifetime

Like the Ancient Passages for Trade

With the Salt of the Years Seeping Out

The Sands, the Wind Had Already

Melted into the Books

like the goddess of mercy who sits, like this...

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An Imaginary Pond

The Frogs Called the Fireflies Twinkling On & Off

As the Horses Hissed by Your Ears, Swiftly Passing You by

The Swaying Skirt

Pushing on the Summertime Moonlight

The Lotus Back then

Hardened Like the Hearts

Sat, in the Midst, of, a Bundle of, Mercy

And so, this, is how we search for that mercy for us in death, how we hoped that we don't, go to hell after we die.


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