I sit closer now. I know that heat is not loyalty. It will leave by 4 a.m. But before leaving, it will show me how a dying log can still sketch a peepal leaf on the wall.
I feed it one regret at a time. They catch slowly, like wet wood. But they catch. angithee 2
Outside, the new world runs on gas and fury. But here, in the bowl of this angithee, a different arithmetic: one coal + one silence = one small, stubborn dawn. I sit closer now
Because the courtyard remembers. Because winter returns with the same dry cough and the same name, whispered from the neighbor’s radio, from a half-shut door. in the bowl of this angithee