Orphan

Be a hug for me
that my cries could calm in its cradle.

Be a leisure
in attritions
amidst the wheelwork
of these clocks' hands.

Be a boundless shoulder
to the immensity
of a man's lament,
headrest breasts
brimming of white feathers,
brimming of purple dreams.

To an orphan
who in the delirium of these
meandering maze
has lost
his mother's stove,
the neighbourhood of
homey
smell of
fresh baked bread.