I wrote a play, titled,
The Bolian Ash Whispers,
About hornets’s nests dives
And brick mortar cylinders
Across the peripheral cascade
And into mountain water
Too close to descend
The storm-laced rocks
Too adolescent to
Withdrawal from the mountain circles
But the Bolian ash whispers
With dining lights
Offering cuneiform groves
And resembling the offering
Of your morning gesture