Hosshoji

hosshoji

I once bought a pot and sold a mountain
I sat, still as a feather

carefully looked at the
shelves of the shop

the katakana coolness of fresh
and sterile summers
far from this cracked and

rotted clay I could sit
here, staring at a pasted photo, seeing
the two sides of all things the temple

coin, its two sides
flipped in the air like

Lincoln tripping on his beard.
the trees and the grade turning
into a long slow march the existence

of these things the wings