My Dream Is A Private Myth Poem by Chen-ou Liu

A Haibun

The sound of gunshots wakens me on this May Day, my twelfth since emigrating to Canada. I look out the window and see a yellow bird falling from the sky. It flaps then glides, flaps then glides as it descends. Is this a sign that the rest of my life will be spent immobile in this promised land for a chosen people? Suddenly, a twinge in my heart.

'to stay or not to stay...'
maple leaves shimmering
in the breeze