Holy Wings

Satish Verma

The twisted moon 
moved horizontally, 
plunged in cleavage 
of dark trees 
eating the stars. 

Aloneness; midnight dream, 
faces the wall of nails. 
Scratches on the flesh 
blood oozing. 
The benign end. 

Put off the lights, 
it helps to think clearly. 
Drape the mercy of night. 
Snake was hissing, may strike. 
A cramp will kill the joy. 

The fish will be welded 
to a candle.