A spider’s web

From thorn to thorn

Silver and empty

Like the space

In the eyes of skin

A snake has shed

Then the leaves shuffles

They no longer part

And the image

Is gone


Early Rains

My shadow the only shade;

I run home to open windows.

A crow laughs over seven lanes

And flies seven streets,

A hand through my hair!- it’s just breeze.

The airs cool when the lane dips,

And soft rain drips glass buttons.