Consecrated Stone

if i were to build a temple
it would be an island
—lonely, unto itself—
guarded by lions
with elephants greeting
devoted travelers
East Mebon–temple of my heart—
you hold ancient myths
like the depths of my imagination
your quincunx arrangement
a stable procession
marking days, years, decades
—centuries—
standing under sun
water lapping at your edges
like distant memories
under the delicate press of time
—vison passing—
lotus blossom hatching
open toward sky
a divine egg
a fertile birth
a miracle worth
multitudes of diamond
the sea of creation
—born—
then dying
cracked egg shells
torn lotus petals
strewn in all directions
across thin membranes
between earth and heaven
and the seven chakras
where your consecrated stone
weathers Brahma's vibrations
at Vishnu's command
your five towers rise
at Shiva's hand
and even though the sea is dry:
it is not dead