Shiva, as Nataraja, dancing the universe in and out of existence, in bronze.
The pot is a god.
The winnowing fan is a god.
The stone in the street
is a god. The comb is a god.
The bowstring is also a god.
The bushel is a god and the spouted cup
is a god.
Gods, gods, there are so many
there’s no place left for a foot.
There is only one god.
He is our Lord of the Meeting Rivers.
Basavanna, 12th century, Poem # 563, translation by A. K. Ramanjunan.