Krishna pinned the Indian Ocean convex
above Great Britain. Earth’s sacred kippah.
A brave display of darks and greys;
Today there is one cloud and no sky.
An omen? Hint of Maitreya?
Then praise this day without the sun;
her needed nap to wake us from
the routine of rise, the pulse of set.
This generation, too walled-in to ever rest.
Petals of ocean drip as Krishna
slips life to us. We rouse when
that stratus cloud wrings and wets
our desiccates tongues—now sending
soothing phrases soaring up to God.