In Tibet they call it
“sky burial”,
And wise people
Come to sit
With the half eaten dead,
To meditate
In the charnal ground.
They practice “chod”,
Inviting hungry ghosts
To feast on them,
Unafraid of horror,
Unfraid of inevitability.
When the crows eat me,
They will talk
To each other
And fly into trees,
Their droppings
Contain me,
My body will spread
Giving life
To the grass.
-2/11/20, for Machig Labdron and the people of Wuhan
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