The shrine across the river of golden sound,
Where a drunken bee drones the holy syllable
Over a crimson lotus.
Rich mango magenta and spice offerings
Are piled high by the devout.
Entering into hut of blue stone—
Cool black interior smeared with incense and
Pierced with tiny triangles of candle flame—
Ordinary cares fall to the crystalline floor.
Fiery letters appear in the air
And reappear in your heart.