Danny Gentile #47

Buddha

of a wounded moment

the skin has gone

not warm in all your undoing

not skin from the snake

that shed itself in disbelief

no sky ornamented in mystery

no starlight above the tree

leaning through ages – through aeons

to be seated in a pale beginning

to wing through weathering night

and dream of the scale now fallen

the beam undone

the shaken empty carapace

of the final evening