mandala

Hear the string-only version of a
song written by people who never
even knew this place could be.

Bicker between yourselves about the
best way to 'capture' the town,
not realising that you offend much
more than the small child strapped
to the back of his sister's arms.

Once upon a time a dragon invaded
but tried to leave a buffer around
these wood-choppers.

The mist falls, or is that, rises away,
and the unshrouded shows grey,
brown, slight stain of sweat and
plummeting body temperature.
No more birds now. Only man's
incense, the thing with the bees.

Invader folds towels in foreign turtleneck,
older people bury rice, stitching time,
watch the ghosts watching us
ride away all to that tune, a scent of
smoke you can't quite place.

10/2/2011