For the ruins to show up in eyes.
Eyes are a ruin , a toll to extract
By moneybags between prayers.
Buddha stood over ruins of time
As toll we paid for atavistic folly.
We would then count our fingers
In garland on our proud treasury.
Buddha women hovered angels
On wings above Buddha smiles,
In stone leaves stirring wisdom.
We calculate what ruins we are.
(on a visit to the Amaravati Buddhist stupa)