Varahi, 2

      listen to what they will tell you
the earliest birds of morning 
and latest birds of evening
the ones who start and stop before the 
rest of the clocked world starts and stops
the in-between your own breath 
the single drop in the well of hush.
      the world is masoned by stone 
upon stone and dis-masoned stone 
from stone every day every moment
the constant building up the constant taking down 
how we deceive ourselves into
thinking 'This Thing' instead of 'This Space'
'This Body' instead of 'This Heart'
our heads are sad scaffolds
       but not your legs Varahi, twined about mine
you move like a tide erasing bed, house
-- and who needs a poem? I would rather
be ridden by you than a thought
your breath in my ear, First Breath
your dark eyes, Good Night 
your lips this kiss like dawn like dusk 
tide, tide, birds, birds, always flying away 
always coming back.
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