Bali
In a yellow sea lies Bali, sinister and mystic.
From the throats of her volcanoes the steam rises in thick clouds
Spreading desolation and hiding the ancient gods.
The jungle lies about the villages like heavy green water
Lapping the shoals of the terraces,
But the temples
Roof above roof
Thrust their way up into the open air.
Their gateways are carved with the figures of uncouth and grinning deities
Pinnacles of terror.
Old gods of stone lie on the hillsides, their open mouths outlined against the sky,
Listening to the narrow water falling beside them
Where the women fill their jars in the lush coolness of evening.
In the rice terraces one might dream that the sky lay shattered,
With the young shoots for stars.
From the throats of her volcanoes the steam rises in thick clouds
Spreading desolation and hiding the ancient gods.
The jungle lies about the villages like heavy green water
Lapping the shoals of the terraces,
But the temples
Roof above roof
Thrust their way up into the open air.
Their gateways are carved with the figures of uncouth and grinning deities
Pinnacles of terror.
Old gods of stone lie on the hillsides, their open mouths outlined against the sky,
Listening to the narrow water falling beside them
Where the women fill their jars in the lush coolness of evening.
In the rice terraces one might dream that the sky lay shattered,
With the young shoots for stars.
