Prayer Flags at Nam-Tso Lake
A roll of prayer flags
is never alone,
as it reaches across a gorge
or winds between jutting rocks.
There are always other strings,
who offer up their red and white and blue and yellow and green
mantras to the wind,
in that order.
I am at peace when I hear
the clattering of a hillside of prayer flags,
letting their holy words be spread
by such a lowly thing as a passing breeze.
I close my eyes- I must be in Tibet,
or else back home in New York,
listening to the clapping
of taut lines of clean white shirts.
I would wrap myself in the sound.
