I fancy the monastery
and the undilute UV rays piercing
my yak fur hat, my rags dyed blackberry purple
and my ochre felt cloak.

The gong goes, the cymbals clash:
it’s time for tea.
Tomorrow the Grand Master
good-naturedly slaughters me in debate.
What are the Four Great Truths? he bellows

and I smile, knowing there is no failure.





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