Verse 6, Learning the Toll

What could his toy car

leave but the trace of its

bead of polished brass, rainwet

ornament draggled by grimy

ribbon, silent noisemaker

tied to a fender, tracing

superficial figures

over lotuses carved

deep in wet by

lovers’ feet, their image

vanishing in surf

washing over the

unmeasured petals, the

sandalwood-colored

ground-turning-dark,

in depth submerged,

the wind high, cooing,

as a boy, catching the scent,

forgetting his toy

car and everything,

sprints after them.

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