My Tongue

At the end of
my tongue
            there are sounds

and in those sounds
            air

and in that sky
            birds,
            come again

summers long forgotten,
            far from home,
            free
                        in otherworld −

I find
            in ways
                        I remained
                                                overthere,
missed

much of this life,
shortened myself.

At the point of no return now,
            between regrets
            and no regrets −

never too old
to become

myself