Buddhist Fireflies Dancing! Poem by Liberatore Suffoletta

This morning, after showering,
furtive grimace in the mirrors.
bedroom has become a refuge of slow rain
Ample and tenuous spaces
Of light riverbeds reverberating voices.
Mirrors of salt where the water dug a hole
an ebb tide of agitated impulses, where night
dripped its stars, slowly
like a habitual addict
onto your lips
“In your eyes only dust,
Soft dust.'
Eradicating and uprooting this doe-like anxiety
Those children I do not see,
“how can my eyes reflect the eyes
Of those children I do not see be? ”
Outside the sunshine increases;
the grass has an uncertain fleeting outline
a sea like reflection on the virtual edges
that distances them from the sky.
Your face, warm and untouched,
sometimes a slow and deafened word
arises;
then I shut my ears to the memory.

Buddha statue smiles
Flames of the lamps
Reflect on breast
Waving in circles
Incense, camphor,
The rain brings a scent of jasmine
To the window guarded by a clay cobra
(more fragrance)
The chants of sparrows within the temple begin
Salamanders glide over the wall
The sparrows quiet
As if listening
Cause of the world
Owner of the world
Form of the world
Destroyer—
Hawk
Smiles from a statue
From the nocturnal ablution
His head receives
Rose water
Perfumes, streams of milk and honey
Leading to the curves of trembling shoulders
Eyes see a nearness a warmth in dark skin statue
Nearness
Rapture:

Her body of porcelin is blue veined
as death
Eternity shining in her face
A green radiance illuminates
pulverizing the fields, the flocks
Everything gyrates as her ax pierces
My blood spurts on falling forms
Worlds within their own directions
Bones on mountain tops of other strata
Skulls adorned with garlands
That which destroys
That which is destroyed
A bridge suspended between
thoughts of ages

Sea of living mercury,
Silver city of gold
Amidst the greed death
Of the enthroned stone statue
Footprints in the air; transparent feet
Minds released from dark cocoons
Their flight from silk veils escaping
Within herself
Hearing voices resounding in the narrow ranges
Running from hearing the Himalayan cruxes
Within her dazzled brow
A voice travelling decades of only a few notes
The color green, is it hot or cold?
not that.
Is it sweet or is it sour?
Strip the cadence of the rhythm of sound
Reveal the nakedness of each letter’s syllable
Leap like a monkey between branches
To a pure vibration an arrow that climbs
Remaining in the infinite division of space
Covering footprints of ants; each sand on the shore
The sole current of vibration surging from an ocean
Without scale or quaver
Without pauses, without echoes
Continual, identical to silence
Fixed even now with your thoughts
On whose bank the bamboo house sits
Covered with fresh leaves, to write
The river unfolds like a canvas
The bamboo and reeds smile
Your hair looks like a dark salmon
Sprinkled flowers on the white stones
Vertical to the oval cross hidden parallel
Beneath the unwritten leaves;
Mango leaves symbols with red ink
Neither east or west
Writing in a light without shadows
Wearing a naked skirt without leaves
Absorbed in an instant with eyes closed
An Eye that looks at her
That eye she looks upon
Which is also looking upon the look
A brilliant gem hiding a thousand eyes
That cover her,
a beam of light rotating on itself

Outside the rain increases
As does the sunshine
The sunshine passes between the trees
The rain drops between the leaves
The river conducts its banks orchestra
The scent of jasmine lingers on the window sill
A dropp of honey descends to the monkey’s throat
Buddha covered in statues of leaves
Seated on a white stone.
Smiling