sue chenette - at doi suthep

Green porcelain gleam

of Naga’s scales along a balustrade,

garudas craning skyward from a tiered roof.

Plop of ripe jackfruit on the terrace

Near the temple, something like a gazebo.

Step in, again, under one arch.

Gongs hang suspended from the others.

Stand near the largest,

its cupped centre polished

in a disc of blackened brass.

Now someone outside must strike it.

The sound bone deep—

earth, body, sky one

ringing.

As it subsided

you called

“More!”

Your desire

and your sudden fear—

what would you have to lay down,

what part of yourself

abandon, where the world

opens into resonance