i swallow moon, funneling its drips into black, slicking my navel silver with boons. i, sediment swirling in breeze. i, anything swooned in night’s still. i am a night’s solstice, primordial soles pressing indian ground, middle loose like sanskrit, slinking. i was not born for a dream: i was born for a dark sleep, grains pulled and stringed into devanagari. i am mumbai’s boy, a moonlit pearl sitting on the victoria’s necklace, the city swinging behind me.

       when i leave, i will singe in american suns.

you dream equinox

no solstices eclipsing

both in one: none clipped