Thousand Moons
On the rim of a beer glass,
stand, white crystals of salt.
I was watching a pale moon.
*
The lone tree always
waits for the dipping moon,
to give a parting kiss.
*
I grieve for the viola.
Why does it extend one?
petal for a landing pad.
Satish Verma
Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2016
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