MOON BOW
night has knitted into day
Your Name
which the wind and
the billowing sea
treasure above all else
resounds forever inside
the tiny temple of
a conch lying
on the glistening shore
who will sing your song
Hari
as the sun melts
bleeding through the
wet footprints
of another lost daydream
(Written by Sonya Tomlinson-Warren,
108 Bhakti Kisses - The Ecstatic Poetry of a Modern Gopi)
