Winter Solstice

Satish Verma

The chase, the speed― 
the kill. How far you go to― 
retrieve the dead horse 
from the river. 

Floating bridge, I 
wanted to drink the 
moon in red. 

The chimes would not 
winter― in falling snow. 
Can you bring me some hot blood? 

The ceramic arms spray 
the liquid memories on the 
grass, all night. 

Later when the sky 
fails, I will bring the 
sun to wipe out the tears.