To carry this vulnerability
through the uncharted,
the seemingly so well-established
but none the less always new,
time unit per time unit,

registering the pain
and the pain called pleasure
through a guise of the Cosmos
called body
with nerve ends and brain;

the organism a satellite dish
for harsh messages,
non-local connections, entanglements,
flaring up like blobs of red paint
across your senses,
picking up all this static,
amplified a thousand times
in your vulnerability;

pain in eerie bursts of intensity;
pleasure the smooth weight
of a relentless oceanic swell

while Hariprasad Chaurasia's flute
meanders
Raga Darbari Kannada
on the thin light
of dusk

slowly merging
with the murmur of a darkness
that wants it pitch black