At midnight the moon was lying across
Padma and Jamuna's sand-and-water-covered cot

This time, it said, this time, tide, come willingly
it's the season for balancing your ledger to the last cent

The skiff with the broken prow in the cove has witnessed
all these great departures for the banks of the Styx

Countless crossings, fatal shores, remote ghost trees on both sides
faithful wives, metaphors with no memories, the cosmos

Colorless smells, this journey from the ocean to the Himalayas
Padma and Jamuna 's water and sand, self-satisfied, dissatisfied release

lolling on the makeshift cot, the moon calls, come, today I am
the earth's twin sister, a frozen floodtide of flesh and blood