I rolled over from a serenade into

I rolled over from a serenade into
the pages of a dream, the leaves of trees,
the water in the canals flowed between
the bindings and the syntax. I rolled like

a cloud within the sky, the wheels of a
celestial sphere, the syllables on her
tongue that spell out sūtras. Mudrās were
illuminated by the dawn, illusory

mysticisms rendered fictions. She turned
the page, the leaves, the verse reversed
itself and seemed to mean something. She

was hidden in the corners of the room
obscured by shadows. I rolled over in
her mind as if a nonsense of images.