by Ayesha Chatterjee

Still, life rises beyond the rooftops,
sunshine or no, smoke-skimmed.
Death trembles in it too and, clumsily,
the northern bagpipes, fooling no-one,
play their notes to the circling seagulls.

Rest your hand a moment in the water.

Pare your flaking skin and watch
fish nibble at it, rare reflections of the flames
that will one day feast delicately, softly
on your smoothed, butter-soaked soul.

— from Juniper Volume 1, Issue 1