while the birds

while the birds slip into their songs

of betrayal and yearning

I listen with interpreter’s ears

hearing laments

and despondence reverberating

(I could be wrong in my translations)

I am vast in my wanting

I must be rid of this burden

carried for years

on the backs of my loves

now deposited in my throat

and burning

or like a bile risen

on Easter morning

after three decades

in a putrefying cave

inside my own chest

(and people wonder why I retract)

But I am risen this morning

with a tentative hope

like birdsong

away now in the distance

lila.p.levy, may 2018