piping lute calls you. You follow the notes down
to the riverbank. And there, what a sight! A Siddhartha
with white feathers flaps her feet in a waddling
dance. She hops and wriggles, kicking up sand,
her silly neck bent with supple grace. She prances
on her spindly legs, shakes her sleek roundness,
sings her nasal song.
stand outside her circle, like a mirror of lesser
joy, watching this comic buddha with folded wings.
You think of a time when your own feathered tail
and restless feet could not be contained. And,
here, under the moon of your watchful eye, she
gives this happiness back to you.
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