Scenery

We continue to pit two tiny hillocks
Against the infinity of a sky bending
Dangerously on the brown bushes
With loud explosions in their rear
And a gray smoke in the elevation.

We have a man and a woman near,
Two faceless figures for a scenery.
They have no faces but cheekbones.
A rock gets angry with a loud bang
With machines making it look small
In the bigness of the blue scenery.

Woman bathes in emptiness of rock.
Rock falls into emptiness of morning.
As smaller holes bath in bigger holes.
Brown bushes bath in their shadows.
Holes have shadows in themselves.
Shadows have no holes in a scenery.

There are tiny eruptions in shadows
Like lizards in holes quickly catching
Tiny eruptions to eat their emptiness.
We are in a hurry to pit two tiny hills
Against the infinity of a breathless sky
Before it eats them into its emptiness.

Detritus

A lot has come out of the detritus
A morning wet with the night’s rain
Birds pecking at a sky for more rain.
Like on the next day of lights festival
The kids look for unlighted crackers
It is   fun to set them off one by one
Near many windows ,to scare ghosts
Sleeping under their winter blankets.

 
Birds are kids looking for some fun.
They forget the loss of the loved ones
That went last year not to come back,
The detritus of last year’s warm nest
Feathers strewn around on a cat’s visit
Screaming ghosts from warm stomach.
They forgive the cat and the detritus.
They forgive the unyielding July sky.
Their beaks  peck at the sky for  rain.

The lost house

A lost  house talks quietly to the lake
In a tender  morning light of its birds
Birds that are in no hurry for shadows
Of a camera not opening quite to trees
But  its shadows tail  buildings fallen
Headlong into a morning lake of gold

The lake laps up against a parapet wall
Of nobody  leaning against it for  view.
Absences are ghosts with no prior bodies
Absences that could have turned men
If  the house had stood erect to the lake
The lake for company on moonlit nights
With a  moon falling across the parapet
To the ripples of a soft  wind in the lake

The lake’s trees make a luminous frame
To the shadows of birds, the buildings
Fallen into its  shimmer,  a  moonlight
Of the previous night still  cherished
By the lost house as a tender memory
Of leaves fallen to the moon of the lake,
Not its absences near the parapet wall.