Wood for Dorje Tshering

All carried

A piece of wood

For Dorje Tshering


Some carried dried loppings

Others the trunk

Of a middling cedar;

In her tiny hands,

Dolma held sprigs

Of scented juniper


Moving up the hill

The entire village

Carried wood

For Dorje Tshering


For fingers,

Sacred doob-grass

Was woven into rings


The gong was struck

It shook

The bare mountain


Dorje Tshering

Never left his remote highland home

But regardless, something

Came for him


And the village used up

All its wood

For Dorje Tshering.

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