What does it say about us?
3g of a mask against the plague.
Probably around the same
weight as a flower a man in a temple
in Nepal is handing to his baby daughter.
I imagine the blessed flower crumpled
in a clumsy little hand just before
inevitably ending up in her mouth as the only way
to know anything, even the holiness,
is to taste it.
I want to remember that skill of swallowing
holy things. Perhaps that is where the myths
of caves came from.
What we cannot dive into
we can still let to dive inside us.