And it is just, indeed,
the incense stick burns,
mere dust… on the breeze.
“I know that angel blooms…,”1 and that
“voice is <never|eternalism-view> still,”1 such is the
flow of samsara, yet
still, calm, absorbed
the moon shines,
can <self-view|other-view> see it?
distant, the sun, and the sage of the
brethren of it? at last, “in your
boots out there, have you
desert sand,”1 of
like dust… on the breeze.
1 Alela Diane. (2009). To Be Still [Album]. Rough Trade.