.................................
The Raga
.................................

Streetlights sometimes sound like this---
a tamboura, humming its white monotone
beneath sitar pings---

your one-two-three-four
fingers across the strings,
guided by obsession and necessity.

From across the room,
I imagine you counting to yourself.

And I imagine what's beneath your sari---
the familiar drone over warm curves.
You're humming, again---
one-two-three,
your fingers across the back of my neck.

The lights are out---
the ones that show us where Love is not.
Now, we speak without promises---
your four strings to my I don't care
how many times you tell me to stay.

Words are neither gut nor steel.

.................................
Scott Sweeney
.................................

 
Copyright © Scott Sweeney
January 1999

...a poem in this room by jade sharma...
candy
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