Aakriti Kuntal writes

My Heart at Sunrise

Light circulates

behind the window

Seamstress of orange ferns

I take my widowed palms

into a large spin

and set them on fire

Auburn against the evening's setting sun

Cease and count

the sacred lungs of fire 

As they awaken the sky today

once more, one last time

Cease and count

the lifting color of dead bees

As they roam,

strung across a sleepless blue continent

Cease and demarcate

the furious longevity

the rugged intervals 

between chambers of white clouds 

As they lick my lonely breaths 

and throttle the stunned air

Distort a quiet blue sky 

into this dreamless raging voice 

as only ugly passions  

like ours do

Then let it beat, 

outside of all creation, 

my falling heart at sunrise

 

 Ferns -- Julian van Mossel-Forrester