Humps of shell emerge from dark water. br Believers toss hunks of bread, br hoping the fat reptilian heads br will loom forth from the murk br and eat. Meaning: you have been br heard. br br I stood, breathing the stench of mud br and rotten dough, and could not feel br encouraged. Climbed the pilgrim hill br where prayers in tissue radiant tubes br were looped to a tree. Caught in br their light, a hope washed over me br small as the hope of stumbling feet br but did not hold long enough br to get me down. br br Rickshas crowded the field, br announced by tinny bells. br The friend beside me, whose bread br floated and bobbed, br grew grim. They’re full, I told him. br But they always eat mine. br br That night I told the man I love most br he came from hell. It was also br his birthday. We gulped lobster br over a white tablecloth in a country br where waves erase whole villages, annually, br and don’t even make our front page. br Waiters forded the lulling currents br of heat. Later, my mosquito net br had holes. br br All night, I was pitching something, br crumbs or crusts, into that bottomless pool br where the spaces between our worlds take root. br He would forgive me tomorrow. br But I wanted a mouth to rise up br from the dark, a hand, br any declarable body part, to swallow br or say, This is water, that is land.