a poem by Willow Kang
A heart-throb undulates inside a bird,
singing elegies touched by saudade
shaking gilded bars that slashes across a view
of a romanticist’s posthumous sculpture
today, the bird became a mother, yet
it cannot stop pecking at yellowed
pages of a once glamorous city, never seeing the
domed roof of a bell-jar sprawled over
her fledglings' futuristic visions
even during the finale, even then the bird
will not forget that long-lost masterpiece
nor the garden, where gargoyles
have now planted themselves