Korkut Onaran
November 2013

I wake up early
and take a walk
into dawn’s sky.

I meet a shadow
way up there
who doesn’t remember its source.

The moon is still out.
I fold some moonlight
and put it in my pocket for later.

I run into an old routine.
I feel at home
seeing it.

A poem asks for directions.
I don’t know my way around
these skies either, I say.

Then I meet a future without a past
and it tells me that
my absence does not exist.

How can I talk about my presence
without my absence?
I ask.

A hummingbird
lands on my ear and draws some words
out of my brain.

The poem keeps staring at me.
After a while it asks
for a kiss.

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