Trivarna Hariharan

Now that you are gone, I conjure you in dream language

A fire
necklacing a farm.

Toll-bells of
  rattle-snakes,  dahlias

whorling
        in the distance.

How I fail
   to sew you  back.

Desire—
  a clump  of berries

crackling in
   a horse’s mouth.

A pianissimo
         seeping down
a moon sown
        otherness.

Here is the star-
       dust of our
shared rooms.

A glow-worm
    gnawing some bread-
crumbs.

Do you too,
    sour over our last picnic—

the plums

    spleening
      my teeth?

How I laughed &
      laughed  all night.

Deep enough to
lull you. Deep enough to

let you pass.

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Trivarna Hariharan is a writer and pianist based in India. She has studied English Literature at Delhi University and the University of Cambridge. A Pushcart-prize and Orison Anthology nominee, her poems have been published in Duende, Stirring, Entropy, Front Porch, Noble/Gas Quarterly, After The Pause, Third Wednesday and others. She has authored two collections of poetry: Letters Never Sent (Writers Workshop Kolkata, 2017) and There Was Once A River Here (Les Editions du Zaporogue, 2018).