The arch of your back
a mountain, your legs
like rangifer tarandus.
Resting on you: dried sheep-cloth
with a fretless neck.
Distributed across: decaying intestines of sheep,
leaving behind, a beautiful spun
Worshiped during Festive vigil
offering a cloying melody
of fictional tales,
and folk music.
How strange the heart resembles the body of the Nepali Sarangi
(With so many compassionate strings),