For Heaven's Sake

Satish Verma

In shreds, 
the day has passed. 
At night, I will touch; 
the unasked questions. 

You were sending, the 
soap bubbles, like 
swans carrying the messages. 

The weather changes. A 
fantasy becomes real. 
The moon has missed the night. 

Like the Morse code, there was 
a flurry of taps, the 
blank paper flies for a rite. 

It is dawn, breasted and melting.