With a breath of belated warmth,
I arrive.
My rushed, disheveled silhouette,
Hopping from dew to dew,
On the shoulders of groggy strands of grass.
My featherless arms,
In an earnest vibration,
Carry me forth,
Racing against the stillness that will soon elope with the night.
As the river starts to blow away its bed of mist,
And you sit up but yet to open those eyes,
I must pass through the last layer of glass,
To cast on the wall your dream-soaked shadow.

Autumn, 2017

Mai Ao