God in the mountains

There on the mountain sits my waiting God as I am trying to muffle fail-sounds and wipe these chalk lines of failed roads.

Pray is the keyword of this dark night as my head rests on the frail pillow. Tomorrow morning I shall cup my right palm to take sacred camphor water to lips .

I shall have that pig-tailed man touch my head to announce my ancestry to His presence while my flowers shout in white fragrance and the flame of my lamp rises in prayer.


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