Above the river Ganga, lines are strung
to mark the new road widening they'll build
so that a car, careening carelessly
around this bend, will not reach sudden
airborne sacrifice. Instead, the men
who work this yatra route haul rocks
in baskets on their backs all day, and wince
when they look down to see the holy tangle
of current frothing far below their feet --
they know that if they fall, the news won't say
that they were miraculously saved
by healing waters. Life does not work out
that way. The offerings are chosen by
the river, not the other way around.