Mountaintops hide
in the gray sky.
Fog sinks into the valleys.
Clothes hanging out
to dry on the rooftops
droop, soaked
and still.
The Buddhist prayer flags
hang limp and cold,
twisted around their ropes
strung over the houses
across the street.
They look ragged,
like so many broken teeth
in a mouth filled with clouds.
These prayers will not be
prayed today,
and the gods will not
hear.
They never did and never will, how wonderful, how sad, how much love God has that he waits for us to come together under His banner.