for the saint of Karaikal
Her palms rest firmly on the ground
skin folds like wings of a bat leathery W—
headstand, legs pointing to the sky.
The birds
suspended in flight.
The flowers
pale,
bleed into ashen earth.
Pey gouges the eye of fire searing in the bursting colors
of wonder at his body—
ravine-like musculature, matted sparks of hair
in moon-tide, a snake slithering in the sinuous river of longing.
Illavam, soorai, and nightshade.
Tangles of creepers, tunneling undergrowth.
Gathering the jangle of bones, she meets him at the crossroad
in the evening. Corpses burn
in the sudu kadu— b(o)oth(am) at home in the border space.