The book of meditation has fourteen chapters.


As I meditate, the woman tells me where to visualize each part.

She runs her finger through my mouth,

cleansing out any debris.

When her fingers close over my nostrils

I stop my breath.

 

I visualize a yogi meditating

in a cave in the sinus of my right cheek.

Other things

other images

in other places in my head.

The woman tries to help me remember

all fourteen chapters.

 

The old man points to the places on my silent corpse.

The woman whispers into my dead ears.

She explains each image clearly

and where it shall be visualized in my corpse.

 

I cannot talk back to her. The tongue no longer moves.

She hears my dead protest, and gives the final instruction.

Just go back to the place that can do it.

Not here with the protests of why you cannot.

 

April 17, 1978