Wind Blown Buildings

And it is just, indeed,
defilement dissolves,
the incense stick burns,
before morality,
floating away,
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
been kicking…
in the,
desert sand,”1 of
course, …
or fine
floating away,
like dust… on the breeze.

1 Alela Diane. (2009). To Be Still [Album]. Rough Trade.