The Birds of Djakarta
 


I have the greatest
fear
watching the birds
fall

from your hands

listening
to your voice
on the phone:

Punctuated with pauses
uncertainties
about my
coming back

Why do those birds
fall from your hands
why?
Am I one of them?

An angel trapped
like the many angels
trapped

by the boys
riding the motorcycles
of Djakarta?

What brings
me
to you?

What brings

those pigeons

to those boys' hands
in Djakarta?

 

 

© 2004 Jean Jones