by a violent dakini. She
told me so
herself.
Typed her name
on a computer screen,
amidst my dream. Then
left me
but the traces
of a flame.
Silently
I drank her tea and
silently we spoke,
of the raging silence
that is yet to come. She
pointed at the roaring sea,
the floating flowers
and the budding of a tree. Then
gazing into empty
space, she...
she then asked me:
Once the words
are smoothed out of your grave,
by a gush of wind sanded away,
tell me then, o tell me then,
what will remain of thee?
