Nancy Naomi Carlson
I'm a brass-bellied Buddha's dream,
an evening of gauze, stars blue
and windswept, the quicksilver moon
tangled in the limbs of a lone banyan tree.
Oh rub me to a blinding sheen!
I am the sitar's ragged throat, pitched
between here and when,
caught in quartertones, worlds bewitched.
Why these four arms so long unkissed?
Am I not your goddess?
My five mouths roll their uvulas,
guttural as high winds crossing desert dunes.
Is there not a stopping place for us,
adrift, two souls who speak in tongues?
Complications of the Heart