the gift
in another land
I ask permission to take from the fig tree
my guide says
the Bhutanese believe plucking a leaf
is akin to cutting the throats of one thousand monks
here, he says let me do that for you,
how is this one?
the uncarved block
the thing we think
we want, perfection
to honor a fidelity
to origin when all
was ever in a state
of emerging
the soft bones forming
a newborn’s skull
the fontanelle of the David’s
marble crown left undone
imperfection a wholeness
complete in and of itself