My Dear Bird,

My dear bird,


I have built us a home

With wood, dry leaves and marbles

Windows that look out to the sea,

And a backyard laced by mountains  

There is minty tea, a warm fireplace,    

For your tired feet my ottoman waits.  

When the future weighs you down, dove, 

When past ghosts your mind, come,  

I built this warm cottage 

On a timeless soil,  

My dear bird,






Dear garden of weeds,

The tuliped heads of your young

Sway in this breeze,

Troubled by the mist

That rises from the icy sea.

Kind mother, pick them one by one

And put them to sleep,

Hush, dear garden, 

And sew them in a golden wreath.





Cheap pleasure is your perfume

                                       in my breath

 Cheap pleasure is your body

                                                                    lying in a dream in my bed.

Cheap pleasure is the cigarette stub

                                                                     we shared when we first met.

      Cheap pleasure is love, they say,

                                                   between two men.