Twigs In The Stove

You’re at the edges
weighing,
I can almost touch You
through this mantiya
with its gold rivers and bells and 33 pleats

Palmoni, you’re numbers
fall on me like rain
In the middle of this play
scripted by my very own heart

It reads like some goat-song.

I wonder what you must think
as you observe
my tripping over time and again?
But of course you have no mind
to encumber You
Only love, love and more love
like twigs in the stove.

V

∞