Your skin was involved
in recent string of shadows, throwing
the white shrouds on unknown
faces. The visibility
becomes a threat, plying like a black river
via stone links.
Your muscles twitch and
convulse. An invisible hand
writes the judgement. A silent
November looms large.
I will wait for the snow to
fall silently on the sun-dial.
Like silent shedding of petals
counting the dew drops on grass.
A tree of bones walks
from death to death. Me standing
on crossroads, on the moon’s path
trying to learn from the mistakes.