Unbuttoning

satishverma

Scratching the rusted face 
of the dust storm― 
to read the message. 

I have come very far, 
from the old stinks. 
It was not the escape. 

The unshaped sap, 
spills from the cut end― 
of treetops. I gather your cones. 

The fall begins abruptly. 
It was a landslide of 
leaf drop. Yellow and brown. 

I wait for the red. 
It reminds me of blood 
dripping from your poem.

  • Author: satishverma (Offline Offline)
  • Published: May 23rd, 2018 19:22
  • Category: Nature
  • Views: 13
  • Users favorite of this poem: Sugiura Asuna
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