The Messenger
I used a key made of rain to
open the door for the cat
Its damp plum blossoms
evaporated quickly in the
summer afternoon
Cicadas—cicadas—
Leaves pierce the trembling light
And my questions
are like the gaps left by birds
skimming the sky
The cat rose up from the
windowsill
shook off the silence in its fur
and slept back into
a heart-shaped lock
The world has been saying
goodbye to us
all along
but the sound was too faint
I always thought
it was the wind