By Inggit Putria Marga
thank you for allowing my body to be embraced by yours
the digits of these hands are cursed to have but one ability:
to burn you or things of the same nature as you
praise be to you who faithfully soften and dissolve into ash
which for years gave movement
to something undecipherable inside your body
now and here, together with the flame on the deep red candle: a snake of light
that glows and reflects off on the statue of the goddess kwan im, white as a morning cloud
I sing a song of praise for you, listen to
the humming of this two-eared being, whose fingers momentarily melt
into the raindrops of a september storm
that soon will end
Translations by John McGlynn