To undo, what I had
not done.
When you will not give-
me your scars.

No answer was needed,
falling in stutter. It
catches my eyes, the
moon spots.

Prayers you will not
offer, against the organized
crime. But I remember you,
whenever I fall.

Precisely I am hurt.
In the serene lake of your
eyes, a boat sinks. The
gray moon turns red.

The woods are burning. A
spectre of losing you in smoke
looms large. I translate
the agony into a chilled poem.