Rowing across Lake Austin

We row across this part of a falling river

under the watchful eyes of a sun.

The azure of the sky, you have noticed Ali,

is unrelenting towards our brown skin,

and furthermore, down the winter sky of Austin...

(A bottled hurricane has left

debris of various consumer goods,

floating remains of our scattered desire).

... We have wondered, you more than me,

how to repatriate our Asian intellect?

This muddy remnant of a river

is not about philosophy.,

but down the inert restlessness

of this water, you have convinced

me in avuncular fashion,

we will find the thought

we wade towards- this lake is not a

place for Brahmins, nor floating carcases,

nor the philosophy of anything.

the sun above squints

and understands this reverence

We have disguised our malaise

at this very unnecessary adventure

and paddle asynchronously.

You call it mallahgiri

the ancient art of getting lost

in water- we seem to have great affinity

for it.