We drove to the Buddhist temple
At sunset.
A hot breeze blew in
From the north.
Clouds of insects rose
In reverence.
One, a fly, landed on my nose
And would not
Go away.
I gave it the good old Aussie salute
A few times
To no avail,
Making me wonder whether
One should swat
A Buddhist fly
Or merely contemplate it?
The Buddha looked on.