In the auction-room, toy trains wait like ribs
to be eaten, they smell like wet sacks
full of delicious smoke, darned with swollen 
fingers in the cold of a Kashmiri morning.

I smile as the pigeons hum into life
so sweet and forgetful was my pain;
the sands of the Ganges shake me like a dog
who has slept in mud in the slippery-shining
mud flats - I do not know where
is the flute; in the hull of a boat maybe
its tone is wet but shining.,

Splash splash splash: it is my heart splashing
with blood and driven by nervousness.
she is sailing to decorate a birth with her presence.
all the labels of all the world  are laughingly locked away 

She laughs as a fine coxcomb of time flashes into the mirror
a penumbra of  kisses spreads
stamped on  and crushed on the lips of my pillow

as we lie down on these hills of thirst
where I can yearn for a waterfall
to stop me burning in the sun's rays 
and so that you can dance
like a fountain, in all its shimmering lightness.

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