Currently finished doing dramaturgy for a play about Savitri, a character from the Mahabharata (and a very cool play it was too, you would have really liked it!)

She holds his death inside her
lotus-petal lungs and muscle spreading
at the sage's feet. Her pearl mind, pure as
the prayer-beads of water down the reed devises
the only word she knows when Yama, virtue-bright
nooses his prana

please.

I'm working on a longer poem about her. This is pretty rough.