Quamrul Hassan

coming home—

she finds cherry petals

in his pocket

taking class notes—

writing her name

again and again

journeying—

the moon rests

on my shoulder

five star hotel

someone reads

the Das Kapital

across the river

sailing away

the spring moon

winter morning

a slice of the sun

on my blanket

her lipstick

on the baby’s cheek

half moon

spring moon—

the sole witness of

the stolen kiss