Poems

The Language of Gestures

The song opened its refrain and took to the sky,
I was left alone,
without even a newly-fluffy,
yellow-downy “lala lalala”.
I roll the air like plasticine and flatten it
and sculpt the words.
You didn’t understand before
and won’t understand
the obscure reasons
for the dance of these hands.
I retaliate against iron mosquitoes
and tear with my scarred hands
the scrubby undergrowth of the air -
when once only one phrase of song could cut clear through…

The song opened its refrain and took to the sky,
I was left alone.

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