UNTRODDEN SNOW

A night of one thousand moons
and I am dancing
in dark.

Circa.
My half-script was left
with you, under a scrap.

Now I am not
finding any punctuations
in the aerie.

At unknown heights
wake me up in blue depths
when sun does not rise.

Stones placed on hyacinth
will not bury the scent.
I might bring another red spike.

Satish Verma