Robed with incense, richly professorial,
The Cambodian monk, in exile on a beach in Thailand,
Tells my fortune; affirms the fabulous ending
On a veranda dusted with white sand.
Checking, rechecking frail charts
Of treasured Khmerian script - attuned
To an almost-inaudible call-and-response
Behind the entertainment.
The universe is created and destroyed
Forty thousand times a second;
Dark in the skull; explosive
Retinal bombardment -
Opening now, a major motion picture
Projected onto clouds.