Poem 62: Thomas the Rhymer in Vietnam

please master thomas

no more sad-eyed people

felling the restless

name of god

simple shilling turned

to the teeming shadows

then split and multiplied

by the crossed illusion

corner stone cornered

appointing a fresh faced god

for the slow

and fast faces

by mind milled

in time for the last

shattered bouquet

of rose red bone

children, sown in

molten fields

and now streaming

from the Buddha’s

beautiful cracked head.