Words will flow like water.

Let the thirty-four floodgates
in the bottom of your being
burst forth
into summer-ice mirages
around your callused feet.

Load pack animals upon your back:
donkey llama mule camel.

Let time be the thin rice trail
slipping through your bag
behind you in the sand.

Hear maracas and tambourines
as inner empty-space
of the mountain ridge-wind.

Let your words rise like
the will-be galaxy of water
the now rootless ashes of was
the possible air of the earth
the rock that is.

Words will flow like water
when you are parched with prayer.