AGALMA

AGALMA

AGALMA
The seal I print and leave here
at the foot of the ancient tree,
A cult, an image, a shadow of my dreamlike evanescent self,
a belated offering in a belated shrine made,
I leave it here and go.
My prayer stands, alone and weathering the storms,
the imprints of a night's stopover,
while the ceremony of the change of guards
occurred with no witness around.
My prayer stands that you may find, perchance by some divine mistake,
the collectibles I left, and that was no mistake at all,
that they were the agalma left for you,
The prayer stands guard that no stray marauder passing by
on a fortuitous night of some dark phase,
may steal it out of your sight.
The prayer stands that the words, the agalma elaborately crafted,
though never to be placed on a pedestal,
may still stand firm in the storms that may be caused by raging winds.
The prayer stands that the sacredness of the song may not be defiled by the casual mockery of ignorant tribes of passers by
and may you find the mendicant's gift worthy of perusal in your restless nights.