That fleeting incandescence
was branded witch
in grotto of a cloud.
For the first time I saw
your face in water.

You said this is manic
depression talking to flowers
and seeing a bizarre
apparition in dark blue sky.

What was the thing called
arrival? Every moment
a truth dies before
your eyes.

Between laughter and tears
I touch your eyes. Is that real?
And your brown ankles
walking on white snow.

I am soliciting a bloodstained
floor for a dance.

Satish Verma