Lord of the meeting rivers,
Things that are standing shall fall.
The moving ever shall stay.
Afternoon smelled of damp sand,
The top layer powdering
To dust after two days' sun.
If bodies are wandering
Temples, then the embracing
Shadows of these creekside firs
Are penitent worshippers
Stretching to follow the god.
The eternally moving
Hopes to be carried away.
Can't get ahead of the day.
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