Unclench your fist.
Release the fireflies.
It is getting dark.

The moonflowers
are in full bloom, opening
at dusk till noon.

In the morning
I will unlock the moon
to go back its home.

You are beautiful,
still untouched by moon.
I am creating myth.

In small hours, I
release the pain at dusk
to touch you unsaid.

I think, not to think of
you, when nightingale comes
to collect your song.

Smitten by your holy
tongue, the muse melts
in the raging sun.

There was a deep
gorge between the hills.
My face turns blue.

Trembling hands will knit
splendent wreath for a
departing moon.

I set
My parts
In rows
To strengthen
And grow
As the parts
I forget
Are mine
Shudder
Around us,
Shaking
Loose
The seams
That holds
It all
Apart.