I had just walked out of the reeds at the confluence
of two rivers. Brown frogs stuck in my hair like gouts
of flung mud, my skin was whip-stitched, lacerated
with leeches. I was walking a path hazardous
with snakes, meridians breaching my own footsteps

while I mush-stepped in the high grass. I cried out
like someone who’d bled on the wrong altars. Half-naked,
I blew into a town like unsorted litter. The people
wanted to slit my throat, so I wandered away to one
of the abandoned huts by the river. Gibbons and rats

stole my fruit. My feet were sore, split like seeds.
My head wobbled in the heat like a dog’s, then I queered
my nostrils at an angle to the ghats. I could reckon
a hare’s smell down to a point, accurate as a compass.
I could hear geese hiss, swaying their necks.

At dusk I listened to the rain gentle the surface
of the river. Little by little it put my mind right.
Finally, my thoughts came as airily as insects skimming
over a pond; a peace came over me that had the equanimity
of snow. Suddenly, I knew I could move on.

CONTENTS: APRIL 2011