a failed attempt to document intimacy

 

as i was watching the afternoon rain

a crow came down from the floating clouds

and sat on the balcony.

soaking wet,

she carried the remaining lights in her eyes.

we ignored each other’s presence.

i could hear the buzzing of dragonflies

on a clear day over the barren paddy fields.

she must also be thinking of something

-maybe the panting of an earthworm.

 or tracing the viscous fear

slowly finding its way through her fingertips.

the evening was unusually quiet.

an injured silence swallowed the moment:

we let it mature.

-an exile in itself

this brief friendship i cherish is a scissor in disguise.

with every embrace, the wound widens. 

i was complaining about

the dryness in my throat

and the fading sun in my stomach.

the crow, shook up from the uneven wind

refuses to bid farewell.

a reassurance that i exist-

to the warm ashes sedimented under the last layer of my skin.

the poor little thing

perches on to the burning sill.

the weight we hide

never be shared

-like homesickness.

 

a gentle attempt to fly

can scar our company.

a muted anticipation sealed in pain.

not yet.

she is still there,

in the rain,

still wet.

a crow

and a woman

disarranging sighs

in a wreath.