on a species of bird that doesn’t fly away

what can we prepare for the day to go on the road, or can we just assure ourselves with planned routes, predictable maps and endless visualization of the roads we will go through. last night, we encountered periods of stagnation in time, when a lost bird wandered forever around in the house, we were listening to the breath of the outside echoing the rhythm falling inside space, a few moments of silence gathered in the chest, and begin to have difficulty breathing because of the anaerobic visualization, tangled visions of your fingers hiding in your hair, sometimes they tell me they are the mud in the beds of shallow rivers, it's been many years, they remember a nameless water weeds, that nostalgia brought them here, diving into your hair in the afternoons washing your hair in the corner of the red brick yard, sometimes they sing songs down the stream and nearly invited you to take a step towards the sea , the direction of the vast, I replied, that every direction goes to the vast, come, don't make me neglect baby bird’s wing, I am watching it find its way out, but it keeps flapping its wings at the top of the curtain where my father lies, right in the direction your eyes look up, just like that, it shows tufts of golden belly feathers, not a ring or a blue worm, I guess, without making a sound of panic, it's circling, circling, I remember a navigation option, I hid somewhere a map leading to Yunnan, where three rivers flow parallel, one of which flows down to the southern region that people call the Mekong, which is south of Yunnan, also south of me, for one simple truth: I was born in the North, oh so I'll name the fingers hiding in your hair the side of my heart, the side spilling tears, I rummage through the map to Yunnan and realizing i'd kept it in an old chest and named the chest lost, I panicked for a moment, looking for loss, yes, like fingers lurking in your hair, I'm the mud, thinking about it, the rattle of baby birds' wings makes me stop, when I look back, realizing how many years have passed since my father passed away, I froze for a moment. the bird didn't fly away?