ABSTRACT
How is a poem not a piece of theatre? Inside the baby Krishna’s mouth, so the story goes, Yashoda saw the whole universe—a sight that sent her spinning, ungrounded, through all the possible worlds the one world holds like play sets within play sets. Play, lila, is a basic of nature and of theatre and of the gods. Play, lila, the nature of theatre in the theatre of nature. But … does it have to be said?
