journeying south
a thousand miles
down the western ghats
winding up thick mountain thighs
rolling down moist valleys
into the gurgling lap of the mysterious female
always a left turn
to the bridge over the river
that stretches like a smile
out to the sea
stopping in the middle
leaning on the railing
silence all around
the river thousand-tongued below
in the dim light
the pleasure sounds of creatures
the wind passing
through my hair
the black curve
of an ibis beak
bends the evening light
we lie down on the roof of the car
and watch the rest of our bodies
in the sky.