Remaining hawk
in voyage of tears, birthing
a poem.

If art of communicating was
via testosterone, why
did you land on water?

Mongrels were increasing,
dirtying the road.

Greif multiplies. Hate was ingrained
in faith. The arithmetic goes wrong.

Landscape stays. Moon moves on.
Why red roses were
dying in your land? Tell me
angel, tell me.

The rage insults me. Who
was perfect in the crowd?
Do I ask the god?