Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts

Birdsong

by Jose Araguz

Aren’t those wishes,

       asks the boy to the man

    stooped

     and holding in his hand

 a spread of coins

        dredged up

from the bottom of the fountain.

The man says: What,

               these,

        why sure

 but what about those sounds

                            the birds make all morning

              that stir the water

                                                        inside me,

              aren’t those mine as well?