Morning Dew

by Amit Parmessur

I know you stare at the pregnant

dewdrops mourning on the leaf
and feel like Atargatis, ready to
transform yourself into a mermaid
for unwillingly killing my love for you.

I know you wonder where

these dewdrops were born.
Yes, right from my heart.

A more careful look will

reveal they are not mourning.
They are half-bird femme fatales
whose enchanting voices
want to draw you to me again.

These dewdrops have stopped

and hope to avoid a dark plunge.
You must move before my legs
fuse together and I forget my name
one stormy night
invaded by guitar music.
 

Mistakes happen and

rainbows do break into dust.
In every dewdrop there is a Utopia.
In every man there is a woman.

I’ll forgive.

Run.

Or else, one day you might keep

asking “Is my King alive?” and count
the dewdrops on every blade of grass.