Uncoupling II

As if fumigation can wipe away
years of Samsara—
an ochre scarf around his nose,
              he stretches under the springs
of the sofa

Nothing has changed – he need not
live in a cave
contorting the limbs
in an attitude of surrender

Everything is changed too:
he eats a bowl of nothing at forenoon,
                    at sunset slices in quarters
                    hunger pangs,
peeling away the skin to watch the fruit

Not knowing how to celebrate or mourn
weakens the scalp of thoughts:
assign patterns, draw maps,
break time into chants
as counter-narrative

                   disregarding
the morning light wash
mossy tree bark, the bird cries
in looping urgency
             mistaking radiance for heat

The dimple of yellow enfolds
the false daisy in the backyard
when she asks:
at what point did you stop looking?