Ode to Sundarbans
The curved claws on your paws
and the snap of your jaws
gives a thrill to time spent in your arms.
The depth of the green in your tidal routine,
and the bright birds we’ve seen,
give grace to this place and the feeling of space.
Criss-cross patterns of roots and dark, poisonous fruits,
the grey mud on our boots,
gives the sense and the sound and the feeling of truth.
In the haunting dawn mist I’m aware what I’ll miss
is the salt of your kiss.