The Dagar Brothers
bore forward

through the afternoon

through mountain stone

through Raga Miyan ki Todi

The Brothers howl
in the ancient Eastern traditions

sick wolves

wild boars

motorcycles in rain

The Brothers root downward
through the throat

through the earth

through the breathing body

Presence leans

The age delivers repetition

Again the Brothers

Again the scraping ice-voices

Again the horsepower
tearing its chains

Again the naked dogs
of longing

I lie myself into being

beneath the Indian blanket

while the Brothers spiral upward
through bruised skies

until the present moment
boils over