Poetry

No final goodbye. No poetic
apology. No introduction
to a frightening joke of
a blue Buddha.

The neonates were blind.
There was no alternative, except
to wish them luck. I wanted
to leave my pangs with razor points.

Morality and hunted crimes.
It was a shadow boxing
in cryptobiosis. A bleak day
invites no more clouds.

You talk to the solitary moon.
The silence enters the reeds.
A whistling wakes up the night.
Death goes for a walk.