Sometimes, unwittingly―
I want to take you
to beginning― not to lose
you again―by unwriting.

Like a drop of ocean
waiting for the sun to quench
the thirst of night.

The quencher wants
to taste the salt of the
eternal wounds jutting out of the earth.

One day I will tear
you off like fresco from the
wall of memory and place it
in the pages of my book.

I will not seek any
apology from you, for not
bringing any flame.

You brought the ashes of
the bo tree.