Sixty-Nine

her eyes glisten, her voice smooth like
sandalwood beads, more than i could
ever dream of counting
in my unfurling youth.

gray ashes scatter around her footsteps,
shadows of the stories that
pour from her lips of
jewels and tulsi leaves,
lessons in bhakti-

her eyes close around
raagas, humming the mantras and
secrets of life that are
etched into the very lines of her
two palms