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)



On a reasonable circumstance,
Waking plucked
Behind a familiar shape
Lying bare feet
Along unfamiliar edges,
On assumptions relationships seethe;

On impermanent birth certificates
Names are not given,
So, I can not include arrangements.
Old sheets are older
Than panic of skin,
Bones have a way of piercing.

Seeing a friend in full
Like reading a reluctant poem:
An instant elegy for luxury
Of words and burden;
A transient innocence
On a silvered movement of gaze.