Marking Timber 3

There is no tree
The tree is beautiful

I raise my marking gun
Making a blue spot
The woodcutter comes and kills the tree
Sunanda makes a wooden box
To hold my ashes

There is no tree
The tree is beautiful

I make a blue spot
The woodcutter comes and kills the tree
The wood is sawn into boards
Engineers glue them crosswise in seven layers
Making beams stronger than steel
And building a tall building
On the first floor is a school for children
-Toddlers evolving into human beings-
Also, a greengrocer with reasonable prices
The midfloors host clean and airy apartments
That can be let for affordable rents.
On the upper floor is a laboratory
That listens to starlight and calculates time
And another that designs bigger bombs
To destroy bigger buildings

There is no tree
The tree is beautiful

I make a blue spot
The woodcutter comes and kills the tree
I make paper from the tree
-In the old way-
On the paper I write a poem
That mentions trees and beauty
You read it

There is no poem
The poem is beautiful

The Buddha opens his hand
-A lotus flower-
Kassapa alone understands
I am become death
Destroyer of worlds
And Shiva sings through my marking gun