Poezja

Distance was increasing 
in spewing rage. 
I yearned for a solitude of desert 
sand and rocks 
away from musty tongues 
and eros. 
 
Counting my failed attempts 
to reconcile with exits 
and slant hopes. 
 
Like an eclipsed moon 
plying over the hill 
to investigate a shorn lamb. 
Plucking the hair from a beautiful scalp 
to become a nun. 
 
Arthritic river brings back the waves. 
Unreachable was the crest. 
Today standing alone on the summit 
I watch the dropp with grief.