Shambles to Shambala

Shiva Nataraja barefoot

Amid the prophets'

Frescoed subway chapel walls.

Old Greybeard dancing

With chipped violin

And open case

Notes cutting

The stagnant air

As passersby

Passing by

Drop lonely coins

To keep the Master's

Steps aflame

Those flames that mount

The bleeding sky

And eager stars that

Drank them in

Stretching the spark aloft

To hold confounded Ramesses

In his tracks by a beacon

That's been burning since

The Exodus, frustrating

The frowning Pharaoh

In every one of us

Who stood and gaped

Instead of stepping in

Counterpoint to the Master's pace

Finding the guided way—the Wu Wei

Wayfaring in harmony around

The flaming stambha signpost

That prompts “Dance this way”

Through the open turnstile

Dance partners tracing

Not upon each other's

Bleeding toes but shadowing where

they are not, finding poetry

In the rhythm of redirection.

Ramesses, rooted

Upon the shore,

Hypnotized by

The lighthouse glow

But unable to move towards it

While Rama,

Seeing the light, carries it.

The Revenant returns

From his woodland trance

Awoken by the shimmer,

Sweet Shiva's shining shamble,

Snaking home to Shambala

Bearing the Pearl,

Hagia Sophia home

Victorious

To the King's house.