An Ode to Thailand

(dedicated to his majesty King Bhumibol)

Brightly glows the living love force:

from the flaring pink sun of south central Thailand,

from the ancient cannons that fertilize the fields of Phetchaburi Rajabhat University,

from the nostrils of the bronze scarred Buddha as he's revived by peaceful patchouli smoke,

from the eyes of the beautiful elephant with ancestral warriors flowing in his blood,

from the tarantula's fur as he flees from the global warming flood,

from the gleaming tongue of my dog "Friendly"
(who sleeps on the filthy concrete in front of the 7-Eleven,)

from the mercury toughened roots of the great pine that push deeper into the heights of a peak by a beautiful temple near Chiang Mai,

from the shiny meat of the lychee fruits I savored contemplating the stars,

from the sweaty back of the artful rice farmer as he glances at some passing cars,

from every leg of the colossal ten-piece centipede as he flees from the flying picks,

from the beak of the white egret as it picks gnats off a grateful cow's hide,

from the cosmic orange of the monk's garb as he carefully meditates during a lengthy and crowded train ride,

from the Gaiiac teeth of every framed bat staring out from glass in 1,000 tourist booths of Northern Thailand,

from the yolk of the sparrows egg as father dodges the zooming motorcycle tires,

from the two-tailed gecko as she vanishes into a swarm of tiny ants
(both she and they more enlightened than New York City,)

from the fresh-cut bangs of the curvy fruit farmer's daughter,

from the succulent flesh of the long-faced terrace-finned fish
as he circles the factory-made hook
of a budding young blessed one
(some call him "Tot,")

deep in study of the desert green mountains
the maps call "Ganga Jan"