In another dream, Tulugaq, the Raven, flies over the ocean. She, the sea, hungers for Chronos.
A drum is tapping out a rhythm: ta; ta ta ti; ta ta ta. How far is it to Banteay Srei? Under Angkor Wat, the land ripples.
Tulugaq flicks his wing at an angle: a light-burst from the sun.
Have you ever felt the earth and sea undress themselves inside your skin in two directions, pulling you into their undertow, unzipping their garments over your head in ceaseless motion?
And where have you discovered how the compass is ever a rose?
Is it there, where the scorched breath now burns as incense?
Music plays from an unknown distance.
Survivors gather to resume
a dance unfinished
unfurling their fingers
as lotus blossoming.