how deep is the water
2 wander about buoy chimes
intent on foghorn call the
Satchit Ananda sails so pretty
raga on the wind
slowly breathened in
floating sensations
notations sealed in wax
coincidence like waning
like paper-rustling cats
a measure of moon pennies
in a piggy bank
where we wade
in wait
for Tansen to lite the lamps
