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Vol. XX No. 1 September 2004 |
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Translation — for Sarah Sitting in a broken lotus, I listen to Lama Pema Beside a pool in the park,Their sound, the whole world of calm nights in the country, Water absorbing noise from the surrounding city, Reflecting buildings, trees, cars & runners Back to a vast sky.I think of you, melting into leaves, encircled By wind-blown tulips, Flowing into the river of ten thousand things, Into the river of me,Your death a violent light cast on everything I touch. A fever.My hands gently shake crickets from white tissue into green shrubs, One by one onto leavesLike the transit of words from mind to page, the awful Falling off, The sheer insufficiency of letters, the life Lost.
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