noise.
Noise of cars.
Noise of borders.
Noise of humidity.
A fence, a field, a road, a dove prepares to land on the transparent in white building like a mountain, beyond the cloudy hot spell, 300 meters in front of me, all I hear is noise, and it is a worn point, and an animal who lives, an animal that’s all living for one goal, for one purpose, to bring life, she is in noise, or that’s who went beyond.
I miss Vietnam, to the people in Vietnam.
Moral obligation is carved on that frame.
And a door prepares to slam on it.
I’ve always looked at you, my love.
Photo: Tuấn Hùng Nguyễn
