The cigarette your mother holds
shudders.
It’s a cigarette incessantly afraid.
Your father
like a church packed with true believers
stands silently by aged stairs.

You are their mural
you are already sliding from their wall.
For you sake
all their lustre is peeled away.
The dark clouds in your body
are right now pouring
on their sleeves.

You are motionless
I know
unconsciousness has called you back again.
In your heaven
with the weight of heavy oak gates
the angels too have folded up their wings.

Obscure fragrance woven by Chinese herbal medicines.
In invisibility
I sound flights of wooden stairs
hearing emptiness.

When one bell is tolled
a million others
incline heart-rates accordingly.
But on the confused, snowed-banked road
the only one thinking to shed tears is me.

You know that
the world, the world is elliptical
and will never, ever be just.