Potluck

I threw a potluck for the gods.
Jesus brought wine.
Buddha brought an empty cup.
Krishna made sweet flute sounds.
What would Shiva bring?
The moon, a polished bowl
full of blackberries.
Their mother came too,
playing her vina, breaking
pomegranates and coconuts open.
Having nothing to offer
but my heart, I held space
for the party, where the path
of this breath ends in a pavilion
garlanded with scarlet blossoms.
If you can find the place,
you're invited too.
What will you bring?