CARE

The noise of a crescent 
climbs wordlessly. 
In the night of dew and wind, for 
its native starless beams- 
holding the thread of a thought, walking 
through wall of disbelief. Before and after 
the murder of a spark; the heart misses 
a beat. Cold sweat rustling on forehead; 
you bend to pick up a coin, 
a fake one. Possibility of becoming rich fades soon. 
You want to say nothing. Troy, Michigan, USA

Satish Verma