1995 From Navapur I send you the half moon and a toad on the concrete step, geckoes and their shadows running up a mud wall. Clouds drape the stars which earlier peppered the sky above the Neem tree. If I walked around the world I should be lost in India. My footsteps would disappear under long, brown bare feet with toe rings and ankle bracelets. I would be blinded by the colors of silk; Lost in the folds of tucked-up saris.
We are not permitted to linger, even with what is most intimate... Rilke The air moves A mother bending over her child is blown away The reel rotates - 24 frames a second - we don't notice the extended arm the beckoning finger until the boy is long past grown and the woman gone from the room The shadow shifts leaves dapple branches break and float downstream I stand and as I breathe the molecules rearrange and everything is elsewhere - your image in the water shivers expands in circles disappears
finding my voice 