Buddhist monks play on fields
of green leaves. They grab at
the locusts.
They are searching for Nirvana.
They kick the air filled balls.
They destroy the turf.
They get violent with the soil.
The balls hum as they
cut through the air:
Defense! Offense!
They score goals in prayer.
Goal 1: a tribute to my life as a cat. This was seven lives ago.
Goal 2: tribute to my life as a blade of grass. This was my first life.
The goals continue. They pray.
Their past lives are ghosts on the field. They're in the shadows,
in the glare of the sun,
and the twisted ankle.
They come to them individually like holograms.
a hologram: he was a cockroach
before he was a man
he was indestructible, ancient
the other a cat
w/ lives more than nine
They are thirty
third generation Shaolin.
It is their job to remember Nirvana.
Buddha says, life is suffering.
He kicks the ball till it bleeds.
They remember
what he said, one once a cat, the other a cockroach
He said.
Eternity is found in the goal,
the grass blade,
the rain drop
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