A Box of Sandalwood

house wind sleep

we do not
raise our voices

you hand me down
my body

where we have gone
into our other selves
we do not need to
find each other
at home in that country
or bother to know
what we know
those beloved things
familiar images
a place of concord
the lights that burn there
burn without flickering

I offer you ten meadows of fireflies

you give me one box of sandalwood

—From A Box of Sandalwood, 1979.