The Celestial Flower

My father cups water from the river,
pods, leaves, algae lace his hands, residue
from the silver streams down his darkened skin.

Chandrama vaa apaam pushpam: Moon is the flower
of the waters. Who was this poet from a time
so long ago when red dust rose to the sky?

His calloused palm endures the fire
drawn from water. Mama patni – the mound
of experiences washes to the earth

as his trembling fingers point down. Her name
delivered to the river, a final
allusion before he breaches layers

of skin cold from a pallid moon   
in the morning sky – echoes the moment
an ember is borne by light and energy,

the shells awash. It is significant,
root of the word flower in the ancient
language is push, to nourish – filling in.