The patch before the green bench is less wet. I will not dig my feet deep in it. The neighbour bench is empty.
Poem was about spaces between words, how they build our nothings in a zero hood of bodies, a pie approximate in truth. How the pie is not truth but is approximate Beauty which is not the same thing as Truth. A pie chart for showing zero hood against infinity.
You talked of hooded hordes swarming a waste land. We thought about the hooded man ever present in Ravi Verma painting of a crow stealing a jewel of the bathing princess. Was he God? Or death who is our shadow?
What is the tiger doing with us in our boat? If truth is divided by zero, does it tend to infinity?
(recalling the beautiful movie “Life of a Pie“)
* Death is our friendly shadow
Before the father passed he would tell son not leave the pig-tailed boy that always went with him wherever. That was a friendly shadow. He would go only where you went and when.
Wherever he went he chanted verses about impermanence of body. When he chanted his pigtail quivered. The friend shadow’s too.