As the sparrows return,

As the sparrows return
Chirping their ways,
Carrying corns
For their little nestlings,
And as the sky
Kissing cow hoof dust
Turn gradually dark
From pinkish west,
I my tired legs put to rest
On the stool,
I prepare to get bathed in songs
That soothe,

And I hear you
Reciting a verse from Bukowski,
I hear you telling me drowsy,
Bacchanalian,
Like a confession,
'I only did to you
What sparrows did,'
I hear chirpings of poems
From your throat,
I hear you telling me
Verses of love.