Poezja

Do not remove the hyphens. 
The stars were trekking 
on foot. 
 
All that was a mirage. 
A hot rood was leading 
to a watershed. 
 
The wholeness splatters 
on the bank. The water, 
takes all the dots and dashes. 
 
The black tree was stark 
naked. No leaves, no fruits. 
Only the singed wood. 
 
You cannot make the 
matchsticks. You will have 
to rub your hands to start the fire.