through sunrise mist Borobudur
is an ornate hill, only the detail in
silhouette conveying the scale
of its rounded rise to a spire.
approaching with the sun, it stays
ambiguous whether the spire
rises up or draws down; now
one can see the terraced squares
in whose crenelations sit hundreds
of buddhas larger than life
watching impassively east
north south west, ensconced
like hindu gods but not drawing in
as they do: directed outward
it's
overwhelming: where cathedrals
architecturally amplify sermons
and hymns of the seated, this
channels pilgrims along a
square-spiralling prayer: clockwise
from east on both sides walls
of carved stories advance, counseling
the walker and shielding the sun
then
after the fourth four-cornered story
watched by buddhas, an octagonal
plateau, no protection from the sun
and the next level is visible, circular.
pointing in 12 directions out are
tall perforated bells inside which
buddhas sit on hewn lotus. their
stillness escapes their cages, suffusing
this bleak summit with calm
then,
in the next circle a solid bell roots
a square spire growing tapering
twisting to become octagonal:
it seems a spool for our walk;
clearly this is the broadcast
a stone megaphone
of seven hundred faces
and what pacing spun around it
has become woven air
spreading down gentle slopes
contrasting the visible smoking volcano;
and so one flows with it, radiated
in straight lines away,
inwardly still
is an ornate hill, only the detail in
silhouette conveying the scale
of its rounded rise to a spire.
approaching with the sun, it stays
ambiguous whether the spire
rises up or draws down; now
one can see the terraced squares
in whose crenelations sit hundreds
of buddhas larger than life
watching impassively east
north south west, ensconced
like hindu gods but not drawing in
as they do: directed outward
it's
overwhelming: where cathedrals
architecturally amplify sermons
and hymns of the seated, this
channels pilgrims along a
square-spiralling prayer: clockwise
from east on both sides walls
of carved stories advance, counseling
the walker and shielding the sun
then
after the fourth four-cornered story
watched by buddhas, an octagonal
plateau, no protection from the sun
and the next level is visible, circular.
pointing in 12 directions out are
tall perforated bells inside which
buddhas sit on hewn lotus. their
stillness escapes their cages, suffusing
this bleak summit with calm
then,
in the next circle a solid bell roots
a square spire growing tapering
twisting to become octagonal:
it seems a spool for our walk;
clearly this is the broadcast
a stone megaphone
of seven hundred faces
and what pacing spun around it
has become woven air
spreading down gentle slopes
contrasting the visible smoking volcano;
and so one flows with it, radiated
in straight lines away,
inwardly still