I've been told the sea is both gold and purple...

I've been told the sea is both gold and purple

in places where the sun leaves fluorescent traces

of its own whirling lava. Myths of formula and

chance enfold from the arms of formless Shivas.

I've lost the cunning use of I in games of worship

in places where the name of God remains a rhythm

of the collective pulse we seek in dream.

I've held the pulse of infants in a mind that is not inward

but curling 'round the antechambers of a house that has no walls.

My name is never spoken.