The roosters have begun their calls
as I fall deeper into an abyss of timelessness.
Longing for my most familiar
in the form of my own cherished beloved.
An ache that calms
with a remembrance of God here now.
This pining is a long time intimate
seldom keeping me from knowing the world.
Yet a tug on a chord
that runs through me.
Learning the darkness here
in Mother India.
Not the black of fear but the unilluminated cradle
where I may lay within my own skin and the breath that moves through.
A dark where I hold my vulnerability
in slowly moving shapes experiencing unfixed edges.
Soon the Muslim call to worship will comfort
a perfectly tender mortal.
The orchids will stir and the aliveness of this country
will beckon for my rapt attention.
