Nine-line Navratri poem: a collage of ideas, words and pictures [a dialogue with Bhanu Kapil]

The pungent smell of my hot thick blood

                            poured over knotted limbs                                     [of oak]

binds me within its unbroken circle

                    All I am is this:    [red]   ice

in advance of my                 dilution.

     And exchange.  [Touch.]

I dive         [into the dissolve]        and become

              solid:liquid

                             steps upon the ground