Remaining hawk
in voyage of tears, birthing
a poem.
...
Do not knock out the water from the eyes,
each dropp is temple
each dropp is death.
...
Twilight song of a cuckoo
taps the window softly.
Gothic tree and drooping sky
humble my thoughts.
...
When you forget to
cross the darkness, the moon
declares not to come again.
...
Coming out of the cemetry,
Faith, does not tell you the truth.
Becomes chaste innocence,
Of imbeciles.
...
What I don't see, I
see. I will go where I don't reach.
The human failing shines.
...
I was trying to mend
my mutilated poems without you.
Sometimes a nimble hand hurts.
...
In reality― you were
in a ring of fire. I had been
left with no claim on you.
Your failure had become mine.
...
Anxiety was touching the mime
I cannot hold a reality.
We were playing with each other.
...
You print your body
on my poems. I drop the hints.
You pick the flowers.
...