(for M.K)

In the beginning,
No beginning, only
The silvery glimpse of a history,
Solid as a rock,
Or the lotus.

Till you, Shiva,
Ashen faced, plough lined,
Danced the dance of destruction,
Your right leg, a
Stern spear, to the moon,
Your left, black root,
Upon the orange womb, this earth;

Prayer, the wild
Dance of your hair,
Place of our pilgrimage,
Where all is surrendered,
Clay, ash, the universe…

Time is only the unfurling
Of the blackness that we track;
So, learning the names of origins,
I can never go back.