Buddha of the North
Buddha of the North
Noon-time dreams
no-toed destination
Humming whispers
gather in the sickle
of a jack-
in-
a-
pulpit chair—
There… there…
a blade in the inner ear
tin air
eyelids like a carpet
misty blues part lips
thick thick
to a browned oasis where
clay and speech hone no weight
suspended like belief
Poet: Severino Profeta Reyes
© Severino Profeta Reyes
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