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