MANI STONES AT SUNSET

Windblown terraced fields
straddle paths winding to land’s end
Mountains, vermillion-stained,

stand forth in a collusion of distance
and light. Shape-shifters,
stable and sure,

not unlike upraised Mani stones
man-set along the way
Rock carved Tibetan letters,

fleshed with pigment,
worn smooth by work-worn hands.
Hidden portals, open-sesame

short cuts to the Himalayan gods,
that through some Braille-lit transference
brings forth all good fortune

resolved within.
Mountain, stone, cloud, light
a hawk swoops…

walls of snow-flecked granite loom
Between palms throat and lips Om Ah Hung glides
on the back of that hawk’s spine riveting

hrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!

With a last drag of sun, clouds
drained of blood,
the city below gilded

with gusts of flame,
above the lake lost valley,
no sense of enclosure,

eagle eyes shine.
Red leaves of poinsettia
drift downstream

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