Lie flat, face upright, arm loose to your side, place left arm on
your forehead. Touch neither elbow nor hand on the floor.
Place no pressure on eyes. They must remain closed.

Always in turbulence— through a strong wind, strands of
white cloth would blow ragged from her shoulders, as
she fled from the bald fat Buddha pounding his drum.

Out of breath, overcome, she circles clockwise, lies down,
a vortex of will. Shifting— takes in the shapes:
orange waterbuck, zebra, antelope, back to start.

She mounts the beast, a face contorted in ecstasy,
slits his throat end to end. Ample blood and flesh to nourish,
skin to warm her, she alone with no thought of opening—

Having uttered no sound, living like that for years,
killing no other creature.