Evening chant


Chanting, bells, and cicadas
As the sun sets behind Doi Suthep.
Bats zip by beneath the chanting
Hall lights and moths the size
Of two hands flutter soundlessly
Above our heads. Hands join,
Heads touch rug, and we rise
To prostrate again before
The next set of foreign words
Issue from our lips.
Saffron and yellow cloth fill
Our eyes, folded just so,
Concealing the tattooed
Body of the young monk
Leading our chant.


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