I walk barefoot on cool granite
in these inner pathways —
the windows shine light,
revealing maidens, peering
from the smooth dark walls
of the garbhagriha.
The morning light unveils
large chambers deep in rock,
held by tall fluted pillars,
diffusing sight —
the eyes settle,
and the sculptor slowly reveals
holding the fabric of time
in this sanctum —
the cathedral of hollows.
The rhythmic drip
from the dhārā pot
catches this rhythm
over the black monolith,
standing on a bed
of marigold and jasmine in a yoni.
And blue-green rays
turn to red-orange,
revealing honeycombs,
dripping from the ceiling
of his chamber in sagrada familia.
I circle my pradakshinā passage,
sit at the threshold
from where i have invited you
to walk with me —
where the carved meets
the open air in my desert.