We wrote those words on slivers of silver, leaving them as offering to the rain.

Watching stacks of ourselves dispersed by magnetic storms which leave no trace,
no hint of ash.

We wrote those words with the patience of saints, in scribe-like care,
and due attention paid to the void.

Waiting at a distance for the ionized smell of rain, which will grant us leave
to walk from that place
into the permanence of unknowing.

*This poem appears in “the void sutras” available on or eBook from

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