A Parting
I hold fragments
of you
in my ash-grazed hands
to put them
in an urn
they sound like
empty shells as I
drop them one by one
the fullness
in my heart leaves
no room for echoes
I know your footsteps
will never return.
© Neetu M
Between sunset’s fiery streaks
slipping into the sea, and
the rising of the silver moon
is my twilight zone.
by the river
he looks lost
his face appears ancient
in rumination
under the sycamores’
embracing shade
thinks he might see
God
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High in the Santa Monica Mountains near Los Angeles, grisly murders are taking place.
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