Looking for Our Fingerprints
The lake like an artist had poured silver
oil paint on her canvas
Then spread it with trembling, loving fingers
The ripples cut so fine in the wind and naked rain
They seem like her fingerprints.
Trucks like prehistoric creatures
Hissing sprays of water off polished silk roads
Something inhuman about these children
You can get tangled in their steel chompers
Mangled in their sunshine-stained shafts
Trampled to tar by their juggernaut tyres
And they wouldn’t even notice.
The morning was indigo
Objects coalescing into their shadows
The sky’s icy breath blew over
Fried Maharashtrian fish and chicken stock streaming
down steaming rice
A quiet love.
As we drive down mirror-roads
Reflecting veiled skies and molten light
I feel your breath whistle through my bones
Your cold lips seal my eyes.
