I want to quit
the game of skulls
to die better.

A saddened butterfly
holds up the sun
on its frail wings.

On the trembling limbs
a hummingbird moth
hovers in air, to catch the moon.

Who was shy of
tiger lily for whisking
away your mirror?

I will wait for
you, till the hundred
moons come and go.

Like a decoy will
be used to trap
the tall necked peacock.