The deity of the ruined temple
Remains in the still twilight.
Beneath the closing flowers
Lost stars lie trapped in the
Hands of a Trinity,
A tri-ternity.

The hand rings a bell
The flowers respond to –
With a song that folds
The silence into the night.

No illusion escapes the night.
The Master of all deeps
Drinks through moments
Dreams suffuse.

In the temple courtyard
In the shade of morning sun,
Birds flit and whistle to each other,
The thin branches bend under their weight.

– Abichal Watkins.


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