SECOND SKIN
The poem
dwells in the unexpected
music a flock
of egrets caught
like an uncertain pause
in the river’s
throat your voice
as it falters on the volatile
notes the crescendo
of crickets endlessly weaving
the night blanket pockmarked
by odysseys by scars
of stars the poem is a name-
less thief stealing
a few droplets of night only
to be pecked open
in a cacophony
of crows that put out
all the eyes at daybreak
the broken poem is a glaze
of lost lapis a charred
shard a fallen
eyelash in the red
rimmed horizon of blackened
suns an exhausted
ash a sacrament smeared
on a body of paper like
a second skin
and crumpled
and crumpled
© Sophia Pandeya 2010
