Rice Ships

Like a secret held
in the palm of a Master’s hand
and let fly on winds
that seek the dawning’s edge,
come the rice ships.

In their hold
breathing,
in their sails
billowing,
burn poem-winds of Love as
come the rice ships.

Bearing from the East
the marrow of the bones
of the Land of Buddha -

Bearing from the West
the crimson storm
of the Blood of Christ -
come the rice ships.

No flags. No seals.
No tyranny of mobs or
Kings of Zeal
Raising Freedom only
in full sail

hard on the gale
in this, the afternoon of man
come the rice ships.