Yowling In Heart

Why hurling above the wall, In front of window, Hits Missouri's cold air - with hands, not by wings? Walking on two legs Like the blade between The skin and the aorta Then in a plastic bag stows Sands of questions, Polishing it by fire' lashes! Why after all times and seasons Flowing now, like a river of candy, Behind the reflections of mirrors, Then fades away and slip? Sitting like a cat, looking Toward the dark corners, Yowling, as if jailed in A coffin of candles pain Why yowling now and again, Above the wall, in front of that window, Hits Missouri's cold air - Without wings, my heart! Written by © Fatima Nusairat