the open-hair magnolia remains standing
putting a hand on the window-bar
of the camellia
sometimes
i think of knowing from her
through sending a pink-letter
who have gone in the fall of night
crossing the border
on foot
and who have like to deposit
the spoilt water-chestnut
on the obsolete narrow-gauge
does the wild moon ever take hot water
from the slow river-quay of this city
following the rein-deer
it seems
his t-shirt has also disappeared
the pictorial cave-writings gradually
putting their flag down
on the cornice of clouds
that return home in the evening
even-then
why the sinthi with it flows
has smeared so much green
even-then
on this operation table
which wind brings in
so much lemon leaves
and why
so much light of carried off in a flood
has overflowed the blossoms of the brinjal
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