The great song will find you.
It will come in sleep.
A mystic will raise an altar.
Every lamp of the world
will burn without oil.
You will be reminded
of the earth gods—
grown from root and stem and rain.
You will fall so deeply
into the forest behind
that even your name
will forget you.
Then you will wake,
singing the great song.
Vaishali Paliwal
Moonwater 