Covertly

If, 
I was not afraid of, 
the thing, but the signature 
strike of a copycat 
in the art of dismantling. 

You, 
try to pull down brick 
by brick, the 
jeopardy. A dead premises 
becoming alive. 

How, 
will you, numb with pain, 
explain the poetry of victim’s trail, 
becoming a Buddha? 
Can you find a bo tree for me? 

The, 
grape hyacinth, I still 
carry your globular blue 
eyes, chasing my 
kisses. Why in the evening?