Leaving Taichung Station

 Birds Clapping

“Life as a book that has been put down.”—John Ashberry

I awoke 

at 6am the birds clapping the thin morning light
into the first raising in 3 days in which I do not think of my birth
day, slicking
the eyefocus shimmers as mirage,

so too all now awakening

I watch the curtain in our bedroom lung in and lunge out in unfocused breath, recall

a tear

up a moment 

I listen
for the earthworms singing up the group, the new dandelions pop

as the night’s oxygen bubbles from underneath

at the birds cacao
Alluring song

ca·coph·o·nous

So
I re-read, test anew, an extraordinary book. multiply

I am
alive. The opaque Saturday morning.

The same cannot be said of everyone who has entered my life. This breaks my heart
Perpetual
Ly
the gone, the songs, the scars, the reappeared and reassembled.

All those lives.

Sentence Eliminations.

The birds

The light keeps appearing

The going keep going

and 

The birds keep clapping, still