Trace

I wonder if you hear my songs
the melody drifts in the swirling river.

I am looking for the cries holding up walls,
give myself over to the skeletons

I need to trace, know you the way,
What poetry speaks?

I am looking for those uncared lives
that are buried in silence.

I want to write in dusty pages,
a handful of alphabets.

I’m starting up again, can’t go far
our words turn pale.

I return to what I am:
can we can pick up poetry again?