Thousand Moons Poem by Satish Verma
Thousand Moons
On the rim of a beer glass,
stand, white crystals of salt.
I was watching a pale moon.
*
The lone tree always
waits for the dipping moon,
to give a parting kiss.
*
I grieve for the viola.
Why does it extend one―
petal for a landing pad.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/7/2024 5:45:08 AM # 1.0.0.1119
