Satish Verma

Your body, intense― 
eats the sins, 
dedicated to hunger OF temple. 

Weeping windows 
will speak for ground zero 
from where you picked up the rosary. 

Would you invoke 
the spirits of owls, who would 
not open their eyes in day light? 

This was the thought 
of the moment. I hail 
the half-finished kiss. 

There was an allegro 
in the outskirts of moon. 
I wanted to wear a mark.