The terraces are green,

a green so light

it breathes

and the layers climb up

the hillside.

Level, precise

rice fields of life.

I hold onto my bike

as their full force immerses me.

I am green, I am light.

Just this terracing

and the shiver

of thin shoots.

A gnarled woman, her sari wrapped around her,

only adequate, dirty,

bends like music

following notes.

I know there’s fatigue and pain

and somewhere near, a before

and after of hunger.

Am I feeling her or seeing me

feeling lost, riding

a hillside, too far away from brown earth,

green fields,

blue sky,

passing through

while children sitting on the edge

of the path with nothing,

barely a shirt,

but a wire hoop and a laugh

and a stick to push it

and energy to run after me

rocks, bare feet,

belonging–

to this point, this path on a hillside

between heaven and earth,

between next and before,

becoming time

while I circle my legs,

my mind,

loops of abstraction,

thinking my life.