'Only the holder the flag fits into, and wind. No flag.' (Rumi)
On a sky-blue prayer flag
the color of one who watches
dreamless sleep,
I write this name.
At evening I plant the flag in stones.
Wind rises.
At the first watch of night
the name is gone.
Wind.
At second watch
the flag is gone.
Toward dawn, the flagpole,
the stone, the ground itself,
gone in wind.
The world in free fall,
lovely without hope,
blown through groundless silence
falling and from everywhere
this nameless cry,
"Shiva, Shiva!"
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