A Clout Of Beginning Poem by Antonio Liao

a little twit of the birds,
hear the swing of the tree; precious
as it could be the branches lullaby the
melody of the wind

you have come and dance with me,
laughing as the broken twig shout for
joy, calling every name, touching every rain
and holding every pain


oh! come green leaves bend to the ground, for
a while leave me without rain, the hood
has full me down and only the sound of the
twisting tree awaken my way

burn down to asses and smell, the great
oblation of perfume vest...