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.

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