On the windowsill the bird came back to

pick the song it forgot upon the mildew.

I don't love my possessions until I see them

disappearing. A heartbreak lying between

weather and eternity knows all about silence.

Loneliness is a diary that has no code-lock.

The realm of summer has the memory of

snow. The shadows of early morning beyond

the habit of sadness. The middle of my spirit is

inclined to big feelings. I searched for those

feelings through every sidewalk. Found mortar

of sadness wincing to no one. I highlight my

wishes in the blue ripple of ink. I know almost

everything I feel love for. Who was I when I’d

not loved you. Who am I that I loved and lost you.

Purbasha is a writer from Jharkhand, India. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in SAND, Iron Horse Literary Review, The Margins, Strange Horizons, Reckoning Magazine, and Notch Review. She was awarded 2nd Place in the 8th Singapore Poetry Contest and is a Best of the Net nominee.