As the old poet we have well to look in
With a bucket lowered gently to touch
Perturbed waters in the broken moons.
Night dreams of fearsome green snake
Lurking in dark hibiscus tree standing.
A boy in knickers cannot bend too low
For fear in belly, not of Narcissus -love.
Fear perks up like piece of balcony sky
And crawls in half-pants to feet below.
The bucket falls to it in deep dull thud
As the rope had slithers down a pulley
Like a water snake searching for frogs.
The waters come up to sprinkle moons
In tiny puddles on the stone saucer rim.
Momentary poems 