PROVE | Nguyễn Vũ Hiệp

Again, my actions
Proves what?
I’m a bird, small, hesitant
Pubescent
Looking up at the sky to ask it what:
“Will my voice pierce all that blue, reach the snow?”
The birds, they too stare at the twelve moons
Took to the sky, amid the vastness fly.

Half of the poem, I will carve onto a rock
The rest I will let drift away into the East
A tweeting bird alerted to the change in the air
Into nothingness lost is a dozen cold moon.