how sad to think
if someone might’ve lost
to bitter winds
at the sight of a mere leaf
what my heart couldn’t keep
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still alive
in some parts of me
this autumn
of all the songs you sang
the sound of sweeping leaves
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rooftop drunkenness
in the cover of night
and sharp winds
wondering if it’s fate
that hangs by the railing
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spring would come
if the weeds do too
in a sense
if I lock my door
it won’t change a thing
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been sixteen years
of living sixteen more
I owe him nothing
but myself
his company
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Zen we spoke of
considering Buddhism
deep in our hearts
we still wonder for whom
does the mockingbird sing
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sometimes a womb
may open a whole world
to prejudice
or it’s just leftover food
that ends up like this
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now you’re old
wondering who said what
so easily
a new day has risen
from ashes of what was
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so sure
I promise myself
the last time
I light a cigarette
is now
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often we met
over a cup of tea
conversing moods —
now the pathway to your door
through two rows of bushes
