It was a wake up call
invoked in the beginning
of serene numbness.
Under the veiled threat
of a moon celebrating the kill.
A path in croci;
waiting becomes a torture for a saffron sundown,
mercury was rising on snowy peaks.
Let’s toe a shikara in the lake
to catch a reflection
of the audible silence
of a frozen shoulder.
A pause in psychotic burst
of unshattered false teeth of time
in full habit.