die before you die,
let the vultures of the air
hover over your body,
buried in the dome of the sky,
touching the horizon
and leaning towards the depths.
climb the solitary ruins,
gather the fragments shored,
let the winds wash over you,
and welcome the rain,
no barrier, no facade. the real
sets into your flesh
and tears at your tendons, it all
falls apart and reassembles. listen,
a warrior without weapon rises,
the wilderness flowers in song at
the ascetic’s sky burial, rising again,
the old city fades, a new city begins.