The Last Song of the Buddha

I remember a story, but it has changed

like a place 
or a city visited after a long absence.

I remember a song, but it too has changed.

My eyes widen and then blink 
in a dark cavern.

I reach out in the darkness.

The chrysanthemums are cold.

Outside, snow begins to fall.

I cannot wear the death mask 
of another,

I put on my own.