Driving on a lower Manhattan evening Of changing shapes and darkness Between boxes of flats Climbing awkwardly One over another Against a silkscreen sky I lookup and see lights Twinkling in windows And wonder Who might be staying there
Can it be you, Aavantika Can it be just you
You stood once Behind palace window panes Of rising river feelings Asking yourself questions Of streets that ended In storms Of flower-drops That started a fire Of sunshine Sparrows That brought a smile In your eyes, Of you and me And a gypsy tabla beat in the rain.
I stopped at a traffic signal On a left half turn tantrum lane Looking at the horizon Rushing under my car wheels Reaching you Again.
