In your presence, I am
moved to swear off

attachment. So I leave
without photos

and go to the temple
yard where fuzzy

chicks cheep in a wood box
not far from monks

on mats. More birds outside
the gates – on roofs,

in the park, in cages,
the ragged cry

of a magpie, the smell
of fried chicken

wafting from a market
where ceramic

masks and golden dragons
shine on clean white

tables. I stop to buy
a red silk robe.

---