Across
the back like violets
the bruise spread
opening like petals.
He blinked.
In Tokyo young mothers are wending to a Buddhist temple high on a wooded
hill
taking tiny pieces of clothing for their rag-babies ghost-children.
He has seen photographs of temple grounds
even spoken to a lecturer
who gave him this replica
like the wound in his back
ringing
a temple gong
calling him
to speak of unspeakable things.