They don´t say much, staring back
With the blankly benign faces of those who have
Gone beyond, so far beyond… I´m not going to get there.
When the rains come I will drip my way home,
Leaving irritating tracks behind me.
In the mornings, I will climb the stairs
And again face the stony ones who smile behind
Clay-burnt glosses. Above the statue of Amida
I put the Name, framed with care, hooked with a small nail
Into the wooden beams holding up this little
Alcove space I call the altar, where I press my hands together
And whisper a thousand times every morning the
Words which hold it all together:
Namo amida butsu…namo amida butsu…


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