Lost in Chiang Mai’s monsoonal green
In a season that flattered the hills
And made them seem pristine.
Suddenly we saw more than steep bluffs —
The cliff was ablaze with strafes of light,
As if flames were scorching the tree tops,
And distant gold plate seemed set to ignite.
We stopped to buy white garlands
From vendors waiting in the shade,
Before the road hair-pin-bended
Its way to the heart of a sacred glade.
The place was the home of dragons rampant and snakes
Coiled before a reclining idol — a countenance so serene
That I almost understood the pilgrims’ trust
In merit gleaned from offerings seen and faith unseen.
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