You are not
on my page.
No more in my abstract sleep.

Cease-fire
will not be declared-
in the realm of dark dreams.

There was
one tear at a time.
No battle cry.

Trampling on
the old reminiscences,
a tiger jumps on the author-

of mangrove.
The aerial roots have
stopped breathing.

Your lungs become
a flute. A war song frightens
the death.