Trees are words and light writes distances. - Adonis

A backward look comes to mind now: On Anna Salai, in the muggy heat of Madras,

Like Basho, waving farewell to a friend long after the beloved body disappeared into dusk.

This is what I have been doing every autumn For a decade as leaves cleave the cooling air.

There are distances of time woven into the creases Of my face. After years you ask me how I am:

Scan the trees' calligraphy when the winter comes to know how separation (or flight?) is written in light

Omens of clear dreams On the highway Orpheus descends To raise up Eurydice

Feasters of tainted dusk Waiting for a guide to The otherworld to appear

Tears about the tree line Falling towards sleep’s blanket Which obscures all city lights

The more I look at you The more I become an augur On the verge of a tongue's Desolation and a haunting.