A River Flows Underground

That was unscarred night. The full moon was rising. A contagium had spurred it to go high. A brazen assault bleeds the painter’s eyes. He sees only red in the pubescent rage. She walks out of the stain, turning into ash, urchin’s brightest moon. Standing on the crossroads who was burning clouds ? Rains will never come again. Phylogeny flattens the guns. We were hiding behind the rituals watching the fall of light. I will make my own truce with death. I refuse to walk under the belly of smoke. Satish Verma