Cyril Wong


Passing Stations


someone playing the piano

in another world

uncages a bird of notes

touching down to make a gleaming necklace


around our horizontal embrace

but a physical reminder

my fingers pressed against the side of your neck

tells me a fever is coming


go see a doctor

work from home today

I say in all seriousness

we stay huddled on a moving train


chugging to its own inaudible music

neither of us must step out without the other

when the pianist stops

when the train pulls up breathlessly to its final station







losing my voice

to crows along the wall

haphazard choir warming up

to what was once your name


giving up all heart

to sheets wrestling on a pole

against the breeze

before falling to rest like a wave


leaving thought

between pages closing

in another book of dreams

memory has become


avowal’s true meaning

the two of us

that was once all of me

fading at last as I speak