What forms do these prayers take
In a city full of such disdain?
One hundred prostrations to the Buddha  every morning
A cup of hot tea
Her lips are like a garden in a midnight moon
Her loving embrace like a parade
Empty arms tremble and the night is only young
Have you felt the pain of loss or are you still not dead?
Only the most notorious traitors know the shame
Of lying lonely while the millions scream
I hold a skeleton key and a book full of childish rhymes
And talk only to God and the wind
Surrounded by a canyon of books
My only ambition is music
And to dream