almost end of winters ,
continuation of life is circular. it is not in ending but in continuation that life exists despite our desire to end parts of it; an abundant word would be continuation and exploration and perhaps not the word end. memory exists in layers not boxes..
and i remember
in layers of dense presence
your breadth full of promises that would die once they leave
the circular presence of my time
letting it go was to be
perhaps letting go was the first thing that
happened when we heard each others voice cracking across south of punjab
vibrations of loss
etched in longing
not to be
not to be
