Quiet Sounds

tetrameles arboretum long
chokes at temple stone
slow tendrils conceal—excavate—
chiseled chambers that men create
and time must tear apart
through monsoon rain
and Cambodian dust at Ta Prohm
Ta Prohm, temple that must
weather nature's temperament
temple that stands against
the steady pull of gravity
and the push of gentle roots
menageries march through corridors
temple spirits, guardians of these halls
and monastery attendants
Prajnaparamita calls us forth
infinity streams out before
—behind, beyond—
we are unborn
our essence is neither here
nor there
Ta Prohm is without duration
—everywhere—
should these walls fall or stand
the story—the narration—
remains the same
waiting for still moments
bathed in lush green lilted
echoes of jungle
and quiet sounds of
crawling vine



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