How much heart is left in the world, you asked.

How much the wager?

I who have tried to touch you

in the shadow of the Southern Cross

I who have combed your hair like I would have combed

the mane of a tornado

I who have tried to dance you

by the mango grove

and who tried to thread dhania leaves

to decorate your ears

I cannot find the measure

I have tried to place pebbles on the scale

I placed rocks

I placed myself

And there is silk and vine leaf

And a bucket of fresh monsoon rain

I have written songs to make fish sigh

I have painted smog and surf and a green horizon

I have turned swallows into prehistoric hens

I have tattooed a trident on my forehead

And smoked cow-dung to pacify the wasps And had a Tyger pacing on the soft lines of my palm

I cannot find the measure

I hated no one, yet struggle was my daily bread

Loved people deeply and next to people craft

I learnt to cherish even the ibis call of dread

the shark's magnificent tug

And as the journey ebbs and rhythms splinter

You have stopped me gathering wood to raft the other shore

I cannot find the measure.