Forever In Coma

Zinnias were stalking. 
The fading moon hangs upside down 
from the massive Ficus tree. 

Ultimately the grace withdraws. 
Now you sit under the bo-tree 
becoming a wet Buddha. 

Unthinking, unblinking 
falling out of thoughts, 
and start supervising the barren landscape. 

The dawn sets free, the white 
pegions to become prey of ravens. 
Would you talk about peace? 

The evil touches every next door. 
I will write a long letter 
to me, to unwrite the sermons.