In the sixty-three years
I have lived
some instants are electric:

The earth locks up the truth about life
even though the blood tells moody lies
when, like the smooth afternoon sea,

My body of course remained but all else
was a cluster of tiny white bubbles
floating up, up, up, to an unseen top.

I’m glad to feel you breathing. There is time,
There will be time, we must make time for words,

I wake from the dream another person, tasting metal
or salt, smelling turpentine, my shoulder askew and
my jaw out of whack. My father has not been stabbed

                      Wash out the blood and know it’s not your own.
                      Think there will be choirs when you go home.

mysterious ocean mirrors
being that blaze
that fail at spawned oxygen meters

The possibility came and went, came and went;

Did we run out of things or just a name for you?
Above us the sun doubles its acclaim for you.

Negative sun or negative shade pulled from the ground …

        Their footsteps formed the paisley when Parvati, angry 
        after a quarrel, ran away from Shiva. He eventually 
        caught up with her. To commemorate their reunion, he