silence but for the dizzying insect
and high wheeling birds cry
the beer filled buddha motionless
his hands encircle the rod

as if in mime he momentarily shifts,
a seismic ripple then calm is restored
impervious to the shimmering heat
his stare implacable in the deep
magnetising his souls core

a pull and he is ready to draw
upon the moment of triumph
when he will hold aloft like a new born babe
the object of his intent