From the series, Japan Poems.
Moss-carpeted
stone steps
leading up to
the forgotten temple,
fewer and fewer guests
paying their respects
to these hallowed grounds,
a song of stately decay,
of bones and overgrown grass,
a rusted bell tolling absence
to the fount of prevailing silence—
Do forgotten temples
die from loneliness
or find themselves ennobled
by the ants carrying the sun
on their backs,
the stones conceiving immaculate whispers,
the trees bending down
to eavesdrop on the worms
itching for rain—
what exactly
do we mean
by keeping company?
The quiet life teems
beyond the flagged limits
of loneliness
or its mortally wrought concessions.
John Biscello 