Some New Season

It arrives flaming
on the back of a crocodile

floating dead
down the Ganges.

We all work to pull it through,
pull it happily to the edges of our toes.

It is cooled when it comes up
and the mud, too, is cool.

How has it cooled in that time?
Some aspects have been removed.

The crocodile’s throat is stuffed
with weeds and muck. Her eyes
are still,

and someone set her on fire for us
and sent her down the river.

Yes, that’s what it’s like.