First
Night
moth eaten
mantle of clouds
on the move
conceals,
reveals,
conceals
distant
gleaming
no words,
no smile,
not even a wink
this first night
of winter
just worn out
fragments of
black n’ white
song & glimmer
of freshly
minted
moon,
shy
in its
fullness
On
the Beach
surf
recedes
crows
descend
in a flash
like German
dive
bombers
in
world war two
heartless
precision
picks
off
helpless
crabs
scurrying
out
of their
slender
holes
for
some sandy
reason
other
than
frolicking
in
the sun
crows
scatter
surf
returns
rustling
her
many
layered
skirts
Grassland
en-
danger
-ed,
not
extinct
bent
by wind,
yet
unbroken
marsh grass
rears its many
heads
Old Worlds, New Eyes
i
in distant homeland
orchards erupt
with archaic
enthusiasm
ravishing, mute
pink & profuse
over promising
almonds
ii
sufficient stem of lotus
singularly transcending
mud
mossy in recesses of
seventeenth century
village pond
watercolor deep
in fragile opium sleep
iii
peacock in temple cage
pigeon on security camera
crow line dances on wire
& hops on palm leaf
iv
fronds droop under the
weight
of prosperous murder
roots bust out of brick
wall below
like dreadlocks
Rudra grins
wide, unconditional,
manic
drips from unfathomable
fangs
welcome relief
v
indigo
hammers & sickles
adorn
freshly whitewashed walls
on route
to historic academic
ruins
vi
some tribes
separate men from boys
by the sharpness
of their tongues
No comments:
Post a Comment