Remaining hawk

in voyage of tears, birthing

a poem.

If art of communicating was

via testosterone, why

did you land on water?

Mongrels were increasing,

dirtying the road.

Greif multiplies. Hate was ingrained

in faith. The arithmetic goes wrong.

Landscape stays. Moon moves on.

Why red roses were

dying in your land? Tell me

angel, tell me.

The rage insults me. Who

was perfect in the crowd?

Do I ask the god?