understanding nothing

high above valley

above deep shade coloured with the calls of cuckoos

the ring of coppersmith's hammer high in the hiss of the wind

wind filled with spirits and bright with the jangle of horse bells

after a crisp night crammed with stars

it's morning

over the scratched-up soil

scorched-earth wasted

long shadows lead women bearing water

i watch the sway of skirts

think of moist spice forests

too many pictures

swirling

vertigo

momentum of civilizations

threw me too far over this time-simple landscape

and i hang here

in this mountain light

a balloon blown full of darkness

got to let this ballast go

got to float upward

till i burst

weavers' fingers flying on the loom

patterns shift too fast to be discerned

all these years of thinking

ended up like this

in front of all this beauty

understanding nothing

rhododendrons in bloom

sharp against

spring snow

remind me of another time

in japanese temple

there was a single orange blossom

at the wrong time of year

seemed like a sign

when i looked again

it was gone

weavers' fingers flying on the loom

patterns shift too fast to be discerned

all these years of thinking

ended up like this in front of all this beauty

understanding nothing