The Temple

Written by: David Windle

Four hundred monks
Chant in the dawn
At the mouth of a once great
Volcano ; their robes
Deep ochre are living rock, hardened sun.
Their legion bald heads,
Painted in cloudlessness,
Distil the sound of a thousand years
Revealed as if by blindness
Or imagination.
The heat is still and silver dust
Makes the earth shine.
Today has begun, once again.

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