Poem Thirty: Lord of the Seven Hills

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The world

needs artists.

We close your eyes

with white paint. 

You are crossroads, 

milk and butter

of our offerings, wild altars

of your seven serpent hills.

The miraculous river 

flowing from your feet.

The syrup of wind 

through tulsi leaves.

We protect your eyes

from the sun.  

The world needs 

more artists.

Begin with understanding 

the law of attraction. 

We attract

who we are.

Camphor to hide your eyes.

Your hidden gate to heaven,

your eyes veiled

in cloth.

What is it the world

doesn’t see?

The retreat and return

of waves,

the reverberating

sound of the mind.

Receive 

and bestow.

Snakes 

and coins. 

Mythology 

and its collapse.

We approach

extinction.

We are jasmine flowers

wrapped around your feet.

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