Sharing the poison with Rudra, who's been
On the soma wagon forever it seems,
Body and self watched the small wisps
Of sunny mountain clouds drift past
A solitary pine on a basalt outcrop.
Down below it was already getting hot,
And the young calves followed cows uphill.
Still higher, there remained snow, and fish
Were just starting to bite for the men
In waders under hooded coats and layers.
Every season is liminal, self spoke through
Body to Rudra, who swallowed self whole
Again. Body waited for self not to sit well
With the poison and come back up. Sigh,
Sooed the wind around the one pine. Sun
Kept everything warm enough outside in,
And poison warmed the inside out. Rudra
Coughed up self by saying, nothing
Can be found between the leaves, between
The needles and layers of everything lying
Around this world that spawned us and our
Observations. Which is to say, nothing
Might as well be at the center as well
As at the edge of everything, divisibly.
Body took the opportunity to peer out
Over the ledge of basalt cliff that looked
Actual to body, a wall of ragged blocks
Of rock with an edge of air. Balancing,
Said self, perched on body nervously,
Between states, isn't that liminal enough?
Rudra popped self back in his mouth, took
Another swig, and belched. Seams seem
Because everything's changing, but even
The chatty corpse of Buddha became relics,
Some for the gods, and some for the kings,
And some for the Dragonkings. Like me.
Body sat back and everything swayed
On the tip of the end of everything, gently.
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