Years will pass before I master the sign language of your mouth.

With this knowledge then I will travel to the city at your throat and lose myself in the crowds buslting about in its squares.

Then rich in this city's wealth, its whispers, its low moans, I will trek south, beyond the peaks, To the wide plain of your belly.

This is what I am learning tonight: how music unfolds from your body like foam from a wave or the wings of a butterfly opening and closing.

This is what I am learning tonight: How to ride the wave, break open the chrysalis, and reach in a century or two, the sea that sleeps in your eyes.

Note: Written in the intermission between Raga Bhoop and Raga Shivranjani, to submilate the itch in the palms to paw, very crudely, the then present muse.