Sometimes the earth shivers on the fault line-
half-life reflects the eerie feeling of stasis,
come over me, more slowly than ever before
the moon rays drop haiku moment.
The starlit sky holds vast emptiness,
I read ‘The Outsider’ in a stained paper,
the river bank is hushed, inwardly murmuring
slow tidal evening slides me out.
The flame trees are in flower, I remember
burned amber of late autumn leaves,
I start to think of forest and fire by default-
night birds circle over me, offer one-two words.
Voiceless winds that have never been so intense
amble towards lean fingers, my words turn to ashes.