ONE ANTHOS

Someone connects a bonsai to elemental peat. 
Your visual collides a clay bite 
of water, deepening the bottom of invisible fence. 
My primrose was waiting for you. 

Polychromes become volatile. An inventive 
missile leaves the trace for a predator to scoop 
an angel. I was afraid of wrinkles, the 
disjunctive pain. Only an insane can walk 
over the fire. The cat’s claw will take hold of freedom, 
the bleeding wound of mutual hate. 

I sit listening to ceasefire, shirtless soldiers 
cleaning their guns, you still seek the empty vessel.

Satish Verma