I recited Tagore to you at bedtime. Tales of flower buds and fishermen, Boat crossings on an ocean of milk.
[You settle in your sleep.]
Your earrings rest near the humming lamp.Shape of West Bengal, after division.
I intoned to you words and stories. Filled your chest with combinations, The spell-soft caress of dimness, The breath inside your breath.
A physical geography of the PurānasDetails the landscape of your person.
[You the product of sages.]
O Gopi—cowherd of my sorrows,Your maya is the veil. Play flute noises,Confide to me in ciphers.
***