At the Temple Gate

Three men stood before the temple gate
They were men who smelled of the sea

We reached land and walked three days into the mountains
We were told to find a small hermitage
The woman who stood before the palace with a torch
Now strikes a wooden bell on a mountain, they said
I took the soaked ledger from my coat
The names the salt had half eaten
She turned one page, then another
And her hand stopped

Do you know this name
She raised her head
Know it? Of course
That is the hand that took my father

The fire has all burned. The ash has gone cold.
But the memory did not burn
The fire has all burned. My hands are empty.
But the names did not burn
What I have to give is not fire
It is what I saw

She went down the names with her finger
This one stood beside the queen dowager
This one came to my father's funeral
This one held my hand and wept
They are all faces I saw in the palace as a child
Who wrote it, I do not know
But who ordered it — that I know
The ledger has only names
Inside me there are faces

Will you come with us, we asked
She was silent a long while
We were asking a woman who had lived ten years on a mountain
To come down again

The fire has all burned. The ash has gone cold.
But the memory did not burn
The fire has all burned. My hands are empty.
But the names did not burn
What I have to give is not fire
It is what I saw

When I was young I carried a torch
With that fire I saved nothing
I burned it all and came back with empty hands
That was when I learned — anger does not last
But memory lasts
I am no longer fire
I am a witness

The fire has all burned. The ash has gone cold.
But the memory did not burn
Though the brush breaks, the ink does not dry
And the names did not burn
What I have to give is not fire
It is what I saw

We came down the mountain at dawn
Looking back
The hermitage door stood open
There was no one inside