Aubade Ending with the Death of a Mosquito
at Apollo Hospital, Dhaka
Let me break
free of these lace-frail
lilac fingers disrobing
the black sky
from the windows of this
room: I sit helpless, waiting
silent—sister,
once you drew from me
the coil of red twine loneliness
spools inside—
once, I wanted to say one
true thing. As in, I want more
from this life,
or, the sky is hurt, a blue vessel. Now,
we pass through each other
like weary
sweepers haunting through glass
doors, arcing across gray floors
faint trails
of dust we leave behind—he
touches my hand, waits for me
to clutch
back. From this cold marble
floor, mosquitoes rise like smoke
from altars,
seeking the blood still
humming our unsaved bodies.
I make a fist
around this one leaving raised
raw kisses on our bare necks—
once I woke
to the myth of one life, willed
myself into another—how strange
to witness,
sister, the nameless shape our
mingled blood impresses across
my open palm. 
Aubade Ending with the Death of a Mosquito
Elegy with Her Red-Tipped Fingers
Ramadan Nocturne