Imagine cities you’ve
Inhabited, streets
Paved in lava stone.
You never intended to pray
In the temples, had
Nothing to sell.
Now imagine yourself
Returning to those same cities.
The river flows, the summit
Emerges each morning from the haze.
Hunt for people you knew,
Knock on their doors.
Ask yourself
Where are the vases, animals
Etched in gold?
Where are the wines
From distant places,
Banquets ferreted
From the bowels of the earth?
While you were missing
Other people wore
Your garments,
Slept in your bed.
How frightening
The man who said
In his affliction
Wood has hope.
Cut down
It will flourish.
If the root grows old
And the trunk withers
In dust, at the scent of water
It will germinate.