Thursday, February 6, 2014

Caravan

"Mirabai says, 
my Beloved is a steeped herb,
he has cured me for life."

Twenty three thousand times today
my lungs will collude with my heart to find you.
A sandalwood base note, a silk rug 
wants to carry us another day 
but it grows thin. I drag the air 
for passage beyond  this time and place 
with a drift of apricot and amber.
Like chambered nautilus, I'll curl
around the last molecules 
of your scent mingled with mine.

Look, the ground shimmers in ghost trails,
and breath implores its caravan.


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