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Writing on my sleeves,
I visualize an invisible coupling
of grassroots with starless sky,
when I walk on the wailing earth.
Hails big as sparrow eggs
smash the bougainvillea blossoms.
The wrestling clouds
begin a storm.
Witchcraft of the moon begins.
The pubic curve of a rock
holds a centipede
wriggling, gnawing.
A spider climbs the weatherbeaten
cheekbone
and indulges in navel-gazing.
SATISH VERMA
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