What does the nose of a star look like?

I look up to see a cloud,
Afloat on this ocean above us.
Her, dragged here, shoved there, pulled on a string to the left,
And brought down to the border between earth and air.
Swirling-whirling at our door.

Bells, radio, play with neighborhood kids, incense, sweet yogurt, maxi gowns. Father parks his bicycle,
Father’s home from work.
Grieving Gods, flowing taps, red foreheads, shampoo and conditioner. What did mother look like?

Like a sweet dream, child, like a sweet-honey dream,
Father sighs.
Scent of deer-dance in her gaze,
Brows ablaze, flames flare-flicker-flutter,
An idle freckle in the valley up her lips,
And a forehead so wise a third eye could’ve peeped through.

You got her nose.

I look up to see the cloud.
Heavier, darker, swirlier.
She is pregnant!

I peer, through my knees and shoulder and skull,
And I caress my nose.
I don’t know you.
But I want to know you.
Your mother, child, even the moon was jealous of her,
Father breathes.
The cloud’s time of birth.
She cries, howls, thunders.
And a child pierces through from between her legs.

Your mother, child, she was faultless.
A star, child, shining on galaxies.

I look, and the cloudly child has come to me.
Rain, drumming on mud-red bricks, flash-flash-flashes, that quiet-algae smell.
And I, too, now, I will feel the cloud mother’s touch.


My bones melt, and two lotuses emerge from my eyes.
A finger extends like an eager branch.
I can’t hold her.

I don’t want to know her.
You! You are my mother.
And you are above every cloud, mother.
You’re a brighter-than-light star, mother.

I beg of you:
Does the nose of a star look like mine?

One night, mother, wait for me till then.
I will leap from roof to roof, mother,
I will reach the rim of the valley,
Mother, I will jump up the white himalaya, mother,
And I will ask the moon for a hand.
That night, mother, she will bring me to you.

I’ll embrace you then, mother.
And I will look at your nose.