You were not there on
these streams
where dry images
of the goddess floated
I was not there to say
goodbye, but passed
the streams, crossed
them wading through
polo fields
just to play cricket
chance an arm
with bonhomie
in winter’s settling
dusk. Eye, face,
nose, and my weight
on the hills falls lonely
as a skewed bird
hovers madly
wanting season
to change.
