Words will flow like water.
Let the thirty-four floodgates
in the bottom of your being
burst forth
into summer-ice mirages
around your callused feet.
Load pack animals upon your back:
donkey llama mule camel.
Let time be the thin rice trail
slipping through your bag
behind you in the sand.
Hear maracas and tambourines
as inner empty-space
of the mountain ridge-wind.
Let your words rise like
the will-be galaxy of water
the now rootless ashes of was
the possible air of the earth
the rock that is.
Words will flow like water
when you are parched with prayer.