They lit the spent garlands to a blaze
in the stone circle
and, but for the applause of the flames,
all was still.
Then one by one, approaching the fire
with sandalwood wands in our hands,
we tossed them in,
and tried to let fall
our most infamous desires.
We have prayed to give them up.
They will burn now, hotter
and harder to ignore — but, like a fire,
they'll consume the fuel and leave...
who knows where they go?
Dark as the ego's shadow,
the sky prepares to loose the stars
and let them fall,
like the flowers which,
once star-fresh on the tomb,
have become coals
throbbing like a blue heart
in the cool circle of the Asian night.
Under the trees' thirsting limbs
it is sung: Godman. Godman.
May my heart, this time, approach
the threshold of that word.
