In the middle of the night
I hear bits of the simulacrum
of my previous incarnation.
They are mostly variations
of wind currents and leaves
of trees fluttering nervously
before the coming of a storm.
Hysterical varieties of birds
tweet warnings on a sunny sky
as soon as a bird of prey appears
scaring every living creature
to look for protective cover.
I always thought I’d be soaring
like a bald eagle in my next life.