by Christopher Stolle
We’re too constrained already,
but we’ll do what we can.
We sing this hymn to praise you,
but we’ve forgotten words.
We sit at your chin
in this sweet lotus position.
Drop your wisdom on us
like petals floating upstream.
Tell about supermarkets
and howling censorship.
We, your staunch disciples,
adhere to each syllable.
We’ll uphold your vices and virtues
to prove our worth.
Those who come after us
will have your name on their lips.
Even in flooding darkness,
you’re lightning for our port.
Sail on, you ghost deity,
to spread wide your lessons.
We’ve memorized your poems
in case of book burning.
Your grace and love have been seared
into our skins and veins.
Be assured, great prophet,
that you’ll never disappear.