I, naked
tremble before you
and deafening is my cry.

you will take me once,
as others have
Memorize my epicanthic folds while
I, fingers-curved,
travel your twin laugh line Ganges.

then the river dries,
several million strands of water,
cut from heavenly head
so that only two or three remain,
angel hair limp and lithe against the clay earth.

funny how you can stretch out famine for years.