In steps that can be edited
by Shriram Sivaramakrishnan
At fall, leaves drop their
The forest floor fills
with a rich stillness
And in it, a world goes
A kingfisher glides by in one hundred and fifty one wing beats
and mouths a worm.
The echo of the raindrop that fell last week
fills the entire valley
like a coin on an empty piggybank.
And the bullet that hit the kingfisher
had crawled on tentacles of air
spread like an overlapping cloth
around its torpedo body.
The broken bird falls on its blue body
like in daguerreotype,
in steps that can be edited.
Death is a series of forms
to be filled.
Shriram Sivaramakrishnan, a poet from India, considers himself an eternal lover of ‘things in between’— roads less traveled, emotions seldom expressed, moments forever lost, and so on. His poems have appeared in journals such as Right Hand Pointing, The Literary Yard, Soft Blow, Dirt Cakes, Message in a Bottle and so on.