Teething Thoughs.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

the white pigeons
find their home inside

the ceiling of this
house

every night i hear their
moaning sounds

they're like the weeping willows
meeting the winds from the far away mountains

there is a packet of winds
trapped in this room

forming a whirl
soon the walls shall tremble

something must give way
to a storm

lest these windows break
frames dismantled

to give birth to a pair of eyes
that will not flicker when it starts

to stare to the sun
or waver to the salt of the earth

these tongues of the twines
these teething thoughts