Pradakshina With The King
For a while Rama let me be his walking stick
as he moved around his sacred hill,
o god, he could lean on me so beautifully
and he did, each step of his a miraculous
rhythm to which my being tuned and
when he sat, I tilted back and watched
the sky nourishing its clouds, his
palm all the while upon my head,
which in his care had become
a crown of jewels and lotuses,
rising up to Heaven’s crest
above us and raining softly
down on man and wood
and mountain
all of it God’s bounty
offered from His One Heart,
out of which all i’ had
been carved, and hewn
now to bark and dust,
a bent branch hollowed
just enough to be allowed
to carry him, gleaming
and hallowed by his handsome
and o unspeakably tender hand.