The last of gravedigger’s wives
wriggles while bathing,
neck cold as leaves shivering –
aftermath of rainy nights.

Several hours ago, rubbed
against jute, storm after storm
inexplicably sweet lashes burned

her faint-less skin brown.
Growing brown, her fingers
excavate down his shoulders
where fireflies would drown.

Yet. In cold night dreams
he clumps lightning in her ears,
her body melts in his palms

of mud and skin.

(jun6 – jun25, 2010)



A stark little girl I become.
Semi-sleepy on early July winds
careless my head on left shoulder,
felt the smudge of your nose
on my collar bone.
Stoically retarding in a contourless body,
a little big girl I become.

(Nov 9, 2009)