A sacred lotus emerges

from the navel, while you rest

on trembling waves. I am shedding

my leaves.

The knotty hole. Center

of the earth. A shell

breaks inaudibly in the churning pot.

The pledged promise was

deep. Pole's red aurorae stream

in new birth.

Was it necessary to take

an oath under the bo tree―

to become a sacred Buddha?

It sucks. Fake or genuine?

I am searching the faces of whites,

browns and blacks. Who

wants to be buried in a nameless

grave of a soldier?