Through the metal wirings

I look through the metal wirings
That made the balustrade.
Until it rains, I see spots of rust holding
A different wound at bay.

I have been here on my own, part of my
Own apartment and think and see
Its shape too much of a harm

To put in words again, to travel again
From the living room to the kitchen and
Then to the balustrade, bent to the sound,

Raising my face up to meet 
The cool, staying sky.

Dale Chou
2013-04-06