In the valleys between the blare of sirens
And the bite of flashing lights 
Sometimes you can still hear the sound of bells
Ringing, ringing, asking
Will She come to visit in my open door tonight?
I’ve left the hinge ajar in waiting

No anticipation can be greater,
She claims the moon as child
It’s complexion is sweet rice milk
Standing in the night sky’s gravity 
Spinning, spinning, giving
Soft illuminations to 
those tired in their travels

I have prepared a gentle bed for Her
Perhaps She’ll come and rest awhile
She has been churning the milky ocean,
  the galaxy of stars
Blinking, blinking, calling 
to the denizens in their shelters 
made of hollow trees

Though I’ve sent the invitation, 
I would think that She ignored it
For I was born in ill repute
  And small. 

She paints the color of sky,
Midnight black
Taking, taking, owning
Every color in the spectrum
   We are mere ebullient playthings
    thinking of our ends. 

I prepared a kindly meal,
The instruments of brass laid bare
 Bone dry, sterile, 
Sparkling, sparkling, hoping
For the dinner guest to bring Her flare

I fear that She will never come
So Giri says,
I will wait alone awhile, 
and then I’ll wait again.
I’ll make a meal the next day,
And leave the door open
Hoping one day She’ll arrive.