In the theater of distance
an impalpable curtain drawn
2 silent possibilities
2 different bodies in one circle of breath.
Cast aside these books, these inhuman poems.
Let's not focus on sea caves,
or dragons, or mermaids, or ghosts,
or on a morning torn
by its sunlight and air.
Everything there, soon will be missed.
No penny will drop
into the chasms of accidents and genetic codes.
Let oblivion forsake
these eyes, these tongues,
and ruminations of sands, and invisible songs
that dictate to themselves
against the sins, the deniers of Zen,
so no mind need measure monuments, so no heart may cling
to coincidence, until there is nothing left
but the smallest of hands.