A fist of stones, Rishikesh.


On the street

we meet

a tiny barefoot boy in blue.

He grabs my hand with his dark tiny fingers and locks my eyes

as if we were both awaiting this reunion.

For Two lifetimes.


His name is Sanjeep.

I know he wants money, candy or to take us to his father's


but I pretend he's found us

because he loves us

and we have finally made it home.


We walk holding hands, across the swaying, strung bridge.

stop in the center, suspended.

he hides his cheek

from wondering cows

pressing past with nubs as horns.


Then, high above the raging jadeite blue Ganga Devi,


shows us

how to feed the fish.


Open your grip

Open your grip

Open your fist of stones

Let it fall

Let it all

into the Mother.