The sun like a dark sore: I clasp my hands and give it its due. I take the horizon in between my palms. I pay my complete arc of respects to the earth, leaving dents in its cartilage. I have traveled my body’s length for five days. On the third I felt my identical kowtows fly birds of anguish throughout my body; I felt them brush hard against organs and dive screaming at insects of bone. This, the fifth day, brings numb. My heart pumps black and devoted stuff.
I am headed for Kushinagar. I am headed for the space between two Sarasa trees, where one may see the truly empty things expand in the sky. Where one may triumphantly part from those who do not recognize the mountain shadow even as it claims their sad features. I am going to where You left.
