natya
2008-12-01
The tip of every branch
at the top of every
tree calls the way wind blows
to mind. One hundred
and eight mudras
dance trees
to light
leaves disperse
below a forest of them.
You’d think
they must bend
to desire, but it is
the power of the whole
song that moves them
more than hunger satisfied.
Labels: posts
[ 0 comments ]

Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.