The sweeping curve of one outstretched arm carries me long with cliff and tree at converting speed. I no longer need direction. Like any dancer I am my own, become flame making gold what is eats. Your upheld foot kicks at gravity; nothing can fall as you stand within your sprouting wheel. Siva, turn me into that drum in your hand, play on me until my eyes Look past time. Even the demon underfoot is holy, lending you its back for departures.
