Hiding in a tree trunk
Looking through the hollows:
Firs in new wedding gowns
Fire budding Christmas trees

It was the trees jangling their interior bangles
The tigers striped past silently
Rugs on the floor of salvation wood

The first time I saw ginseng I understood the body to be a root
Until a slice of what I could only call steakwood

The river swears it’s blue, will carry you across
Soon as you leap in, fast moving coils
Who said the python’s dead

Where is the hatch
Somewhere here but giant roots flowed over
Is it sealed
Bloody me
Will we keep

Gone too far, free out at sea, why does the water wave as if pining for the ties of Shiva’s braids?
The tangles at the fountainhead.
From here, the view of the dance.