there is a temple in the village
to which the winds come to visit
and street trees bow in prayer,
where the dawn breaks anew upon
its short stoop that leads to sky high minars
and the out of tune whistle birds
sing to the cacophonous blossoms of hibiscus

for a short while silence meets matter
dispersing timeless pollen into my heart
until the traffic of daylight submerges the night
awakening the caretaker, the river, the shadowless