Strain

in the folded arms of buddha’s
larger incarnations you chant incantations
relating oneself to the whole, muddy shoes
rubber souls, squealing crows and raindrops
it hurts like empty buildings, open windows
take me with you

under the largest tree you ever saw i
drink from a paper cup, ashes to ashes

inside bright clothing
what is will be, what will be is
sutras and ribbons, circles and lines
from a park bench time’s passage is message
is truth

mind’s barrier, wrapped wire, coiled like thread
we start and end
in printed cards and storybooks

in carved eyes you hear yourself,
the voice of your god
he says talk to me like you don’t know me
understand me like tea leaves
smell the dirt on your hands and the breeze
what you know you don’t know,
the back of your wrist, your third-longest toe
the taste of blood in your teeth

he says you are one matchstick