There the parijat flowers lie on the earth ,their faces in the dust, feet to the sky. Somebody’s cut flower creeper fills the air with previous night’s fragrance.
On the hills ,from a balcony ,a dark woman looks down as if expecting the milkman. There a man is up in arms against the sun. A woman froths at her mouth with toothpaste.
Words remain,as many scraps of memory. An image or two vanishes in the wilderness. Its fragrance stays as unrealized poetry.