śrīuttaratantrāntargataṃ śrī kālī tāṇḍava stotraṃ

Ten verses from the Uttara Tantra, each closing on the same salutation, and the title promises a dance the verses never describe: what they give instead is the dancer, held still. She is the one of the hum-sound, mounted on a corpse, her eyes blue lotuses, the single face of the three worlds; standing in the archer's stance, terrible, the garland of heads hanging long; short of body, heavy of belly, dreadful. Then the register turns without warning — in fresh youth, mistress of speech, benign and at peace — and turns back again to matted hair full of blue lotuses and a vermilion moon of a face. The two registers are never reconciled anywhere in the ten verses, and holding them together is what the hymn does.