every shout  a drop of blood
squirting from the twisted veins
the destiny’s road opens
to another quite unknown corner

every shout stifled by heartbeat
of silence holds a desire to cut
the uneaten loaf of heart

their ears are deaf
a head of stone
a body of wood
fingers of clay that
have forgotten how to clasp a flower
or rise a hand in protest

music that has become air
settles down at the navel of midnight
it’s an angel singing
under the leihao tree to sleeping hours
to closed windows and doors
only the leaves and grasses of
the earth responds

with daybreak the lips, the nose
the hands, the limbs, the eyes
awakened
the air lost its music
the angel is only a love disowned
by both the lover and the beloved