Songbird: A Duplex
A pale rustling branch tethers our hearts,
A rope swing, gray sweaters, and one fleeting brush,
Feel a blush, in gray weather, swing me, erode,
Woo me, o’ songbird, sing of my soirées.
Woe is me, songbird, sing of my sorrows!
Empty hands you thought would be joined at last.
Empty hands you feared would never be joined.
Do you ever reach out just to grasp thin air?
Or are you still reaching out, gasping for air?
Breathless embrace, mind clouded in disguise,
Breathe less, by grace, you’re clouding the skies.
I said: rain is coming, like thin rosy streaks.
Acid rain is coming in thunderous streams.
A pale rusting branch tethers our hearts.
By Alex Dong
