Fences

That day we harvested

A mutual spring full of monologues.

I polish the resolution kept in the prop box

& Choreograph our absence.

Here is how the vocal point is devised:

I carry the weight of all soils on my shoulder

For a tender shake to sleep, awake and sprout;

Like a curtain call, I wilt, sometimes.

& I smoke your absence in,

Map out your movements in my lungs,

To narrate your breath.

It’s hard to stub out a tragedy like a cigarette,

The departure burnt my finger

& One-person sonnet is hard to read.

I grow our stage all alone.

Then I recall your habitat, rebuild your shelter,

& Revive your scripts along the scenes

– In this backyard

Where the world happens without conflicts without climax

Without a flower.

2021.11.12