then we're looking at the smoke
that's rising from the incense
…
and we're wrapped inside our troubles
and we're wrapped inside our pain
and wracked with fires with longing
and our eyes are blind with night
with our fingers clutching coins
and our thoughts burning with i
and our eyes cannot be sated
with the world and its nightmares
with the world and its dreams
though later they'll be filled
with a small handful of dust