Experienced all the misery which follows on a disregard
Of the first conditions of domestic economy. Broke,
Chased the end of a day up through Zion Canyon,
Past where cars are allowed to go, past the cut stone
Rangers' houses, over the faintest permanent creek,
Headed for a place to watch the moon and try the dharma
Of one with a back against a wall big enough to ensure gravity wins,
Not to be selfish, not to be sanguine, not to be terrified. Lines
Snaked in and out of canyon and tunnel, even in November, meaning
Every dragon sunders lines of sense to reconnect chthonic facts:
Can't supply the king any more cheese. Time to maybe become Gopala.
Morte, tu mi darai fama e riposo. There was a trick of light sometimes
At the back of the thought that glowed from certain angles, gold.
Calling this cave of thought the lair of a dragon, people became afraid.
Someone said, however, enlightenment could take it on, convert the dragon.
Now people come to worship the same occasional glow that is believed
Became the more comforting shadow of an enlightenment. But shadows,
However enlightening, in my cave or no, I won't convert once I'm undone.
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