The Delicate Dives

Satish Verma

You always speak 
from the eyes. 
My sun will send the clouds. 

No it isn't. You 
wanted to look away 
hiding the moons. 

Extra-virgin. No way. 
Tree was crying. 
Branches gone, no olives. 

This city will start 
a trade. Selling 
glass eyes of many shades.