Some Birds

Autumn applause broke

Into a sunset of sparrows;

I forgot the way to migrate.

Moving

Into a new address with lavish hope

Of a warm coat knitted

Out from a spring

never silent.

Me and my refrigerator started

To feel cold, for an old can

Of memories baked back in

The late eighteenth.

I want to remember how it feels back then

With only a hard-cover dictionary

Sprouting on my bed-side table

And a slice of sky thick with sunlight

And full of words

Lurking into my little nest-like home

Through my half-open window –

I can’t help but pouring out

The three quarters of my tears in my life

out:

Moist light as feathers

With excessive flight,

Blooming foliage for a treeless night.

My path is never rooted

To rhyme with my way back home.

Expired words with expired weight:

I can’t look into those things

In my temporary ride in a homeless taxi

For my neck is too heavy.

For a mind dying

For a kiss from the sun being too heavy.

Skyline. Bedroom. Scarecrow:

Pounding in my dreams

along the journey

Like thousands of migratory birds

Still flocking.

2021. 6.19