Hidden beneath an alluvial sunset
and longtail-tossed waves,
she gives herself to the Mother Water,
sinking into riverweed and muck.
Bejeweled with leeches and crabs,
her hair is tangled with water
hyacinth roots and as their leaves
become sails, pulled by the wind, so she too goes.
Rice barges swollen with freight
pass overhead;
the riverbed darkens and glows,
darkens and glows.
Her lotus-leaf eyes emanate green dew
as her fingers flit up and back
telling the story of fountains and gusts
through the silted sweet-water.
The rocking hulls of boats above
tap out the rhythm of the Grand Duke’s dance.
Openbill storks sing along as the dusky light
begins to fill with vapor and lightning.
As the percussion quickens,
so does her nymphish undulation.
Her hand runs over a freshwater ray,
lightening its warrior’s load.
The River of Kings is stirring
and the air becomes thick.
The lines between waves
and falling droplets blur.
She spins her epic daily dance,
mesmerizing gods and algae alike.
Her shimmies scatter wriggling bubbles
eroding the cares of heroes and prawn.
The downpour erupts
into an orchestra,
whistling through frangipanis
and strumming succulent vines.
She careens with water monitors
as her bracelets chime and her silky skirts rise.
She fingers orchids floating
on the co-centric ripples of the Chao Praya.
Mangosteens drop
and dragon fruit roar.
The cacophony of the monsoon
coaxes pregnant trees to bear their fruit.
Banana flowers quake in the wind
and watch as her forehead crests.
The freshet pulls her upward
and her eyes meet with mangoes.
Veils rise into wings.
Air and water merge.
She is the estuary below.
She is the storm above.
Creative Commons love to http://www.flickr.com/photos/7147684@N03/ for the photo!