You don’t know the depths made fierce
by fire and water; you don’t hear
the pillars crumble, the great Tortoise of Heaven
and the sounds she makes as she awakens. Not even
emperors, great statesmen, soldiers, movie stars,
moguls, philosophers, judges and lawmen
can forestall the hour— A gong
sounds, and the echo of that song
floods the hollows of its shell. All
drown and tremble, as old tales foretell.
In response to Via Negativa: Poem for Display in an Inaccessible Location.