There are people out there
                               in love
though I may not know
          them, my thoughts
      circulate among them  

as birds do, unseen,  often unheard,
and who would understand
         the poetry of birds
                     if not the ones
        out there;
                       in love?

Listening. This loneliness
                  helps me
                  to listen, to lie back in
        my quiet and not dream but of
                        the birds, I am 
                        simply here, my eyes
                        open, not asleep,

         To stay awake is to give out. 

I know my failure, I absolutely do

the empty page, black stars, the words

                  I didn't hear being
                                      spoken to