Poem: "Temple Art"


Temple Art


from here to the base of the statue is quite a long way

            Diana Bridge, “Sequence, Sarnath”


The scorpion, ink black,
            looks out
                        from his muscled back,
            its eyes pierced
and piercing, its tail
                        poised to strike.

How like the temple guardians
            of China.
                        With sure violence,
            invisible noise,
they leave in you
                        a grit of lion.

Look too long at scorpion jet
            and you
                        are left
            with a drop of poison:
you are in the forecourt.
                        This is as far as you get. 

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