Sonam Chhoki

Reading the Signs

mandala –
around the full moon
circles of rain clouds

When the saw-toothed ridge melds with the violet night, they come. In the arc of bare trees their faces are a mesh of light and shade. Their brows are umbrous ruts of karma through the bardo. In this late hour they glide to the edge of the sky. The one to the left, hangs low in the east by Orion's sword; the other to the right, hovers in the west under Jupiter's blue glow.

They utter no words. The chiaroscuro-hollows of their eyes speak. The one to the left looks past Orion's light. His iris mirrors the gibbous moons of hope that have waned. The one to the right, stares long into the shadows. At first light they fade.

empty field –
caught on the barbed fencing
bits of sheep wool