Every night the sound
Of a friend at the top
Singing a soothing song
Stays like wet dust
Only at different season
–
A door dark in smoke
Painted with soot
And charcoaled in decoration
Put up with
A furrowed skin
That speaks mumble jumble
Of the good times
Though little but long
In memory and wants
–
How did my love go?
How was his lips?
How was his last tears?
Was it crystal water?
Or tainted with dust?
How was I able to cope?
Should i end this?
–
Then her company
Starts her daily duty
First a howl
Then a quick scratch
Of the thatch
And only twilight
A wing flap
–
This takes a lunar
Then a full moon
Until the senses notices
Then a cup of water
And then a broken pot piece
Of scrubbed remnant
–
Each welcome
Is received with caution
–
Until – should I end this?
Brings the fondling tears
Of touch on the soul
With every night the sound
Of a friend at the top.
