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