the Indian Evening
on the ferry road to the west secretly embarked the moon
the Ganges River, Buddha cave crammed with somebody else's teeth
stars and beads
a purple string between heaven and earth, a true string
eight feet high the blackness flourished
fiercely the gale howling
city, the little thing emerged only recently
like dessert that loves to consume plants and fishes
troops of crows under the moon
the self-conceited brides in black wedding frock
no one made them proposal
so they combed their own hair in raucous calls
the old man asleep in the storehouse
his shadow wandering on the hand palm, shadow is labor
facing the wall, facing the wall, there appeared the meditator himself
pleading the eternal beauty of wheat flowers
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