My parka cuts the wind’s direction
and my thought, the future
hangs like a fisherman’s line
waits through the rain.
Prayers may wake the tigers
and prowl the forest.
Time is sheltered
inside our fears.
What is williwaws?
I asked once. You laughed.
The trout swims away like my dreams.
The rains stops.
I decide not to walk
and pray.
You call, singing poetry,
like returning hummingbirds.
Tiger and temples are one
like a prayer, you and me.
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