THE FIREBRANDS

Do not remove the hyphens.
The stars were trekking
on foot.

All that was a mirage.
A hot rood was leading
to a watershed.

The wholeness splatters
on the bank. The water,
takes all the dots and dashes.

The black tree was stark
naked. No leaves, no fruits.
Only the singed wood.

You cannot make the
matchsticks. You will have
to rub your hands to start the fire.

Satish Verma