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