Alan Dawa Dolma

carved into the earth is the
crying of the twin voices

while filling the silver bucket with
these small hands, the water keeps spilling
in such a mature and righteous world
there is no season to speak of love

sing
you who pretend to be kind
dance
the eternal prayer of the boundless sky

in the dark waters are countless flies
things like excuses all have no meaning

who is the endless night
speaking to, whistling now

shout out
impossible is paled feathers
go forth
towards the burning setting sun
a hymn for tomorrow

opening an innocent finger
person i love, where are you now