Calling to the Vidyadhara I thought I missed you, That I would have clung if in your presence. If that history had been gifted I could have been bold But I see What I had been: Private, slow grown, Was slated for The radiant editions The aftermath, the ash. Those who walked with you, Some driven mad from your proof, Still bomb concept Like channels possessed by Your shapes, fashioned and wielded. You were pure: Unclouded, Fatal. I've told myself secret stories, Fattening pride, Of what I comprehend. But you still cut With countless elemental arms Strewn through phenomena And I know nothing. My head is at your feet Heart and guts Raw, unkempt. Grant your blessings That this smart-enough Turns off the safety, Drinks.